


Granted.

by Limb0



Category: Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limb0/pseuds/Limb0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micheal and Sam Emerson find out that killing supernatural beings wasn't as easy as it sounded in their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mercury32](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercury32/gifts).



> This is my first fanfiction ever. be kind. Pretty sure I spelled every single name wrong.

“I thought they were supposed to be in coffins!” Sam exclaimed. The light waved above his head as he was clutched by his friends in their fright.

“This is what this cave is,” the boy on Sam's left said. “One giant coffin!”

He pushed passed Sam's shoulder toward the wall. Broken beams made a convenient ladder. Sam wondered if that was why the Evil Blood-Sucking Scum had chosen the spot. Then he remembered they could fly. Or at least – he shook his head – jump really high.

He tapped his light in a vain attempt to help it glow brighter.

Could Micheal jump really high now? Like Spiderman! Only his brother: So more like the Amazing Vibe?

Sam held the light as steady as he could for Edgar as his friend climbed. It was a harder task than he thought. He shined the torch back at the faces of the vampires. It was freaking him out that they were still asleep. Was the light bothering them? He thought perhaps Edgar shouldn't make so much noise.

Why were they dressed like Hernando?

Why were they all curly? They all looked a bit queer, like hippies. He had the strange thought that perhaps Grandpa was a vampire. He shook his head to clear away the image of his grandpa munching on the neck of an old biddy.

“Right now they're at their most vulnerable,” said Edgar, grunting as he climbed. “Easy Pickin's.”

Sam didn't quite believe that was true.

Also, why weren't they in their pajamas? Weren't they uncomfortable?

“Remember,” Sam reminded Edgar. “You just have ta kill the leader, huh?”

Did no vampire wear pajamas? Maybe that was why his bro had slept in his clothes and glasses that one time. But he was pretty sure that's because he'd been drinking.

Could vampires drink?

Stupid question.

“We donno which one the leader is,” Edgar said. Far too loudly, in Sam's opinion. The young self-proclaimed vampire hunter looked back at him. “I guess we'll just have to kill them all.”

Sam tensed his brows. He didn't like the sound of that. What if the vampire woke up? What if they all woke up? What if there was a cave in and they all died?

What if he broke his leg?

If vampires were real, did that mean Santa was also real? Or only horror universe stuff?

He didn't know.

“We start with the little one,” Edgar said. He climbed up closest to the curly vampire on the end. Sam thought it must use tonnes of hairspray to make its hair sit like that.

“First come, first staked,” said Alan, laughing nastily at his own pun.

Sam had a soft spot for puns. “What was that? A little vampire humour?” Same hoiked his shoulders up towards his ears. “It wasn't funny.” They were killing people, after all.

Batman would not approve.

Alen handed a wooden stake up to Edgar. Edgar looked down at Sam with a curl on his lip.

“Oh my God,” Sam whispered. It was about to see wood driven through someone else's chest. It didn't seem real.

Edgar raised the stake over his shoulder, ready to punch it through. Sam couldn't understand how he would be able to do it with enough force to pierce anything. His friend truly mustn't see the vampires as people.

He couldn't do it. They'd have to think of a better way. “No, don't even –”

He cut himself off, waiting.

“Goodnight, bloodsucker.” Edgar delivered his much practiced one liner. He pushed the stake up over his shoulder, ready to thrust.

It wasn't going to go through, Sam realised. Not through a vampire, and not at that angle. Not when they were in the air.

“No!” Sam shouted.

Edgar thrust the stake forward.

The vampire's eyes burst open and the thing roared. Sam screamed. The Frog brothers yelled. The vampire moved and Sam's friends cringed back, holding their arms above their heads.

The other vampires roared. Sam flailed about, the torch light juddering up and down with his paroxysms of fear.

The Frog brothers did away with caution and jumped from their perch.

Sam had to split. He wasn't waiting around there any more. He turned and Alen and Edger ploughed into him from behind, pushing him along.

Something hit his leg hard and rolled against him. Hair and a shirt. There was a body on him, a freakin' body. His mouth open in a bow of painful screaming, he pushed it away. There were people everywhere. Which ones were dangerous? He looked up, panicking.

“You're dead meat!”

Probably that one. He screamed again.

“Aaaaah! Let's get out of here!” He wasn't sure who'd yelled it. He thought it might have been him. but he was already following the advice before it had been uttered. “Go! Go!”

More roars. The Frog brothers scrambled up the slope. They ducked into the low tunnel.

Sam pulled himself up after them. He turned to look back. A mistake.

The blonde vampire lunged at him out of the darkness. The torch was little deterrent. It flashed on the monster's teeth as it opened its mouth.

Sam didn't wait for more, but turned and scrambled down the tunnel.

“Go, go, go! Let's get out of here! Run!”

“Come on, come on!”

Sam thought if the brothers had time to scream words, they had time to move their keisters meisters. They were crawling too slow.

Another roar, and something latched onto Sam's leg. He turned, screaming and squirming.

The monster bared its fangs and hissed. It was disgusting. Sam flailed his leg. He crawled backwards, yelling in fear and panic.

The hand was like a block of ice had frozen around his leg. It was pulling him in.

Arms wrapped around him from behind and pulled. There was screaming in his ears.

“Alan! Alan!” Sam yelled, half choked by hands. “Get me away!”

The vampire pulled and he was dragged forward.

“Get him into the sunlight!” One of the brother's yelled and he was heaved backwards.

The vampire was roaring, and flailed with its other hand, catching his leg. It felt like a whale was dragging him into the ocean.

“Get him into the sun! Get him into the sunlight!” He was dragged forward again.

Another heave from the brothers. “Go! Go! Get him out!”

He was dragged back. He turned his face, latching onto the side of the cave and pulling. It was like pulling against a rockslide.

He heaved with the brothers as they leaned backward.

The Vampire's hand slipped into the sun. He saw it ignite and he yelled. He jerked his leg back, scrambling away with the brothers. They blocked him from the exit and he pushed at them.

He looked back. There was a horrible hissing noise and smoke.

Out. Out Out. Out of the cave. Out of the cave before he threw up.

The brothers moved and they fell into the underground ruins. He didn't stop to look back, but sprinted ahead of the brothers, toward the half circle of light.

He dashed into the day. A rusty bit of wire caught his leg. He didn't stop to care.

He ran to the stairs. “Mike! Start the car!” Where was Mike? What had happened to him?

He hit the stairs running. “Mike! Mike!” His feet thundered on the wooden slats and he hooked his arms on the railing to help him go faster.

He hit the top. “Start the car! Mike! Mike.” He saw the car, saw his brother's form. Asleep. He ran to it, busting open the door and leaning over to shake his brother.

“We blew it man, we lost it!” The Frogs had reached the top of the stairs.

“Shut up!”

“We unraveled in the face of the enemy!”

Mike wasn't waking up. Sam lifted his brother's legs and let him tumble into the back seat. He flipped the girl the same way into the passenger seat.

“It's not our fault!” Edgar was saying. “They pulled a mind scramble on us! They opened their eyes and talked!”

Sam punched back the folding seat, looking back at the Frogs. “I'll drive.”

There comes a day in a young man's life where he has to drive a car for the good of America.

The Frogs didn't seem to care. Alan came barreling up to the car. “We don't ride with Vampires.”

Sam wasn't in the mood. “Fine, stay here.” He wanted to drive, damnit. He pulled the door closed, disgusted.

The brothers looked at each other, then back toward the cave. They were covered in muck and panting.

Edgar looked at his brother. “We do now.” He said adamantly.

“Yeah,” his brother agreed.

They scrambled around the back of the car.

“C'mon, Sam, let's get out of here.” The brothers jumped over the door into the passenger seat just as Sam figured out how to turn the key out of accessory to on.

They'd be gone like Flash Gordon if he could find the right pedal.

“Burn rubber,” Edgar declared, pointing at him. He followed the finger just as Edgar punched his foot down on the nearest pedal.

They all screamed as the car leaped backwards toward the cliff edge. Sam slammed his feet down on the only pedals he saw were vacant. The car screeched and stopped.

Sam flung his head back. He could see nothing but ocean.

“Christ!” Alan declared.

Sam pushed his face near Edgar's. “Burn rubber does not mean warp speed!” He shifted the car into drive, pulling Edgar's leg out of the way. He stamped on the accelerator. The car barreled forward this time, and he turned the wheel, jerking it left and right until the thing turned straight.

*

Back at the house they pulled up with a juddering squeal of breaks. Sam had managed to steer them okay through the gates, but he wasn't sure Grandpa's Sitting Bull sculpture had made it. At least one thing had come from a bad situation.

The Frog brothers jumped out of the car. Sam clambered out and around to his brother. He shook him, but Micheal didn't stir.

“Help me wake him up, guys!” He called to the Frogs. Edgar immediately grabbed a steak. “Not like that!” He shook Mike again, then punched him on the arm. Leaning back, he panicked for a moment, then poked at his brother's face. He missed and poked him in the eye.

“Ahahhhhaaaagh!” Mike rose like a hound of hell clutching his left eye. “What the fuck! What! What the fuck!”

“I'm sorry Mike! I didn't know what to do! I'm sorry!”

Micheal curled over his legs, whining and clutching his face. “What did you do that for?” He groaned.

“You wouldn't wake up!” Sam exclaimed. “We have to get Lady and Boy inside!”

“What?” Micheal asked, looking back at him with a red and watery eye.

Sam flailed in the girlfriend and the boy's direction. “Those two! Will you help me?”

Micheal quickly pulled himself from the backseat and onto his feet. “I'll get Star.” He stalked around to the passenger side and opened the door, pulling the girl up so he could catch her around the waist. “You guys get laddie.” The Frog brothers hesitated, looking at each other. But with a glare from Sam, they hopped to.

Micheal pulled Starr into his arms and curled over her protectively. “C'mon.”

Sam felt useless. He hopped from foot to foot. Micheal turned back to him, halfway through the front garden. “Come on!” He said.

Why were bloodsuckers always so irritated?

He ran up before Micheal and pulled the door open. Micheal shoved through, Edgar after him, carrying the kid.

On the other side, Sam could hear Nanuk barking loudly. Sam filed in after the others. Micheal made for the stairs. Sam's dog was in the way.

Micheal hesitated near the atrium table and Sam stepped forward. Now wasn't the time for Nanuk to try to be protective.

“Cool it Nanuk,” he commanded, pointing at the canine. That was entirely enough. He'd had enough.

“Yer dog knows a flesh eater when he smells one,” Edgar's voice commented from behind him.

“Take him outside Sam,” Micheal's voice was haggard. Sounded like he'd had enough too.

Sam moved forward and took Nanuk by the collar. “Come on Nanuk,” he said kindly, pulling the dog to the side. It wasn't easy. The dog kept pulling at him, trying his grip.

The others started up the stairs.

Grandpa came plonking into his vision, turning to look up the stairs, calling Micheal. They all stopped.

Sam clutched Anuk's collar tight and waited with bated breath. What the hell was Grandpa gonna say? Two bodies, everyone covered in grime. They looked like they'd just lost a fight with The Blob.

Grandpa tilted his head. “You know the rule about fillin' up the car with gas when ya take it without askin'?" He asked, his voice plaintive and level.

Micheal stared at him, his face pale and covered in sick sweat. His eyes darted over Grandpa's face. “No, Granpa,” he said finally.

Grandpa nodded. “Well,” he said. “Now you do.”

And he pushed himself away from the banister and walked out into the kitchen. Micheal sighed, relieved. Sam pulled at Nanuk again, tugging him along to the open door. He pushed the dog outside and shut the door. As long as Nanuk was out, he couldn't bother anyone.

He turned and dashed up the stairs toward the first bedroom. “We definitely blew plan A,” he said as he tromped into the room.

The others were dumping the two snoring half bloodsuckers on the bed.

“Time to activate plan B,” Edgar said, turning to walk toward the door. Mike slumped down beside the bed.

Why was Mike's woman wearing a sparkly curtain? Sam would never understand his brother as long as he lived.

“Okay, what's plan B?” Sam asked.

“We don't have one yet!” Edgar said, annoyed. “And we only have two and a half hours to come up with one.”

“Why?” Asked Sam, following him out the door. “What's in two and a half hours?”

“The sun'll go down,” Edgar explained. “They'll be looking for us.”

Sam looked back at the sleeping halfies. Allen grabbed his shirt, pulling him out the door. They shut it behind them.

“I have to warn mum!” Sam said, rubbing his chest where Alan had pulled his shirt.

“We need supplies,” Edgar barked.

“Alright, let's go then.” Sam said.


	2. 2

There was banging in Micheal's head. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Rattle-rattle. Thunk, thunk.

He didn't want to get up, it was too early. When he was up, there was always the illusions and the yammering in his head. He felt sweaty and weak and tired. Not himself.

He liked the dream. It was about Starr and walking on air, because jumping was really flying and if he just pushed hard enough he could get way up there to the Taj Mahal on the clouds. He loved the Taj Mahal on the clouds. He went there every year.

His elbow was uncomfortable. He shifted it.

He'd go there now if it wasn't for the stupid buzzing in his head. Did David ever shut up? He didn't want him to go to the Taj Mahal. He just didn't want him to. And Micheal really wanted to go, but it was all the way over there, and how was he to get there anyway?

“Micheal.”

“Don't poke me in the eye, David.” When he got poked in the eye, it hurt.

“What?”

“Don't poke me.”

“Tell me honestly, are you drunk?”

“I wanna go to the Taj Mahal,” Micheal reminded him.

“Just leave him there. That vamp is totally zoned.”

“He's my brother, yanno.”

So many brothers. If this went on like this he'd have like forty or something. And all of them needing curlers. No curlers in Taj Mahal. But then no one wanted him to go.

Starr got to go to the Taj Mahal. There she was right there, with her glittery dress and little, tiny, nestled boobs. He'd never ever say that, nope. Or else she'd glare at him, and he didn't like that.

“Mike?”

He imagined that he could remove his sunglasses dashingly and say something witty and charming, like: Would you like pizza in your hat? So much pizza in our hats.

Starr adjusted her pizza hat. Micheal decided it would be a good idea to eat the cheese out of her hair before it got tangled.

He lunged toward her.

“AH! OH MY GOD! GETTIM OFF, GETTIM OFF, GETTIM OFF!”

Micheal's eyes flew open just as he was yanked backwards by two pairs of lanky arms. He let go of whatever he was holding on to. His brother fell away from him.

Panic welled up. “What'd I do?! What'd I do?!” He kicked out with his legs, struggling from the entrapping arms.

“Oh my God!” Sam exclaimed, putting a hand to his head. He looked up at Micheal, betrayal written all across his face.

“What?!” Micheal demanded, almost too afraid to hear. He looked up. The bed was to his right. The Frog brothers had him.

“You ate my hair!”

“What?”

Sam looked wounded. “I leaned over to try to wake you up and you just sorta. Bucked. And then you ate my hair!”

Micheal spat. “I didn't eat your hair!”

“You did!” Sam protested. “You ate like a big chunk!”

“You did, dude,” Edgar provided from over Micheal's shoulder.

“If I ate your hair, where's the hair? It's not in my mouth,” Micheal grimaced. He put a hand up to his lips and rooted around with a finger in case there was anything.

“You're worse than Grandad!” Sam said, dragging his hand from his hair and shaking off residue.

“How can I be worse than Grandad?” Micheal, annoyed at the thought. He pulled a long piece of hair from between his teeth, frowned at it, aggravated. He flicked it away.

“Don't flick my hair!” Sam protested.

“Just piss off, would you Sammy?”

“Heeey!” Sam protested, picking himself up off the floor. “You're such a dick lately.”

“Vamps are always dicks,” Edgar provided.

“Yeah, kinda like a -” Alan grinned down at Micheal. “-murderous temper.”

“Oh my God!” Sam said for what Micheal just knew was the third time. “That was terrible.”

Micheal was getting a headache. He really wanted to tell them he felt sick. But that would be demeaning, and anyway, why be sick when you can just collapse?

“Hey!” The Frog brothers grabbed at him as he slid from their grip. “Hey, hey there, man.”

“What time is it?” Micheal mumbled.

“Near sundown,” Sam said. “Listen, we need your help.”

“With what?” Micheal turned his feeble attention onto his brother.  He gripped the frog brother's hands and shoved himself upright.  He could stand fine by himself.

“We've got a plan B, but it involves getting ready.”

“What do I do?” Micheal's interest was piqued. He licked his lips. There was a funny taste in his mouth.

Rather than replying, Sam dug a hunk of garlic out of his pocket. “We've got a garlic bath, holy water, a fire, and a bow and arrow.” He looked bleakly hopeful.

“That's it?” Micheal's face fell. “That's not gonna hurt anyone!” He turned away from Sam, throwing up his hands.

“It's the best we've got,” Sam said. “And if we have you, it'll make our arsenal complete! We have to do something! If that one vamp is dead, they're gonna come after us.”

Micheal looked at his brother in horror. “You do realise they can read minds, right? Like do magic tricks.” He wiggled his fingers. “Make you see things.”

Sam looked confused. “You can see things?”

“It's cause he's a bloody vamp!” Edgar declared. “They get all these weird wibbly wobbly signals from their masters.”

Micheal shot an incredulously annoyed look at the bandana on Edgar's head. “What?” He asked.

Edgar, his face straight, raised his hands and began wiggling them through the air. “Wibbly wobbly.”

Sam caught Micheal's arm before he could retaliate for his confusion by punching Edgar in the crotch region.

“Look, we can't just sit here,” he glanced at Starr and Laddie on the bed. “You guys can't hold on much longer. What if you attack me and Mum?”

Micheal sighed a huge gust of air, tensing the muscles in his arms and then letting them rest.

“Yeah,” he hazarded. He looked around at the others. They all looked like complete lunatics.

Even if a bow and arrow could hurt a bleeding vampire, he doubted any of them could fire it. If they had any chance, it was up to him. But he was also their greatest liability.

He opened his mouth, ready to say something, before realising what it was. He looked away from Sam quickly toward the bed. He had had this funny odd feeling as though he was doing something Mum had told him he absolutely mustn't do.

But.

He had his family to protect. He rubbed a hand over his face. If it was the best they had, it was all they had. It was on sundown. He could feel it because his limbs had stopped going numb at intervals, and his eyelids had stopped sinking towards the floor. He set his jaw, making a decision. “Alright.” He sighed again, turning to Sam. Besides, he wasn't exactly one for following the rules at the best of times. “Let's do this.”

“Yes!” Sam grinned. “I knew you would. We have everything ready, all you have to do is stand where we tell you. You'll be perfect bait.”

“What?” Micheal said, thinking it was a joke. But Sam was already heading out the door. He followed him in a rush. “What?” He demanded this time.

There was a pop in Micheal's left ear.

“He forgot to mention the Chinese happy sticks,” Alan said to his brother as they left the room behind Micheal.

Edgar made a shushing noise. “If he Vamps out on us, they're our special surprise.”

Micheal slapped a hand to his ear. Even though the brothers had whispered, he'd heard them. He didn't like that. He cupped his ear lightly. There was an odd ringing in the other one. He stuck a finger in the ear and scrunched it around. He pulled it out and concentrated. He could still hear their breathing. He shook his head.

“You okay, Mike?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Micheal ducked his head.  He followed Sammy out onto the second floor landing.

Down the stairs, the door burst open. In front of him, Sam jumped, running backwards. Micheal stepped forward ready to protect him.

He stared down at the open doorway, searching for threats.

“Boys? Is everything okay?” Micheal shook his head. That sounded like his mother's voice.

“Mum!” Sam gasped.

Micheal looked at him. So he wasn't hallucinating. Sam looked troubled.

“I thought you got her out of the house,” Edgar hissed from behind him.

Micheal squared his shoulders uneasily.

“I did,” Sam retorted. “But she's come back.”

“Guys?” The small form of their mother shadowed the door. She must not have been able to see into the dark room. “Anyone about? Why is the fire going?”

Another, taller figure graced the door. “I don't see them at all, Lucy.”

“Oh dear,” Lucy said as she walked in the door. “I do hope nothing terrible has happened. Dad sounded so worried on the phone.” She walked determinedly to the center of the room. “If this is another silly stunt, I just don't know what I'll do.” She rubbed at her brows.

Max walked in and cupped a hand on Lucy's shoulder. Micheal could see them by the light of the fire. With an involuntary twitch, his lip curled up and he felt a low grumble start in his chest. A hand clamped on his arm. He tensed. Sam squeezed tight.

“Boys?” Max called. They didn't seem to have heard Micheal's involuntary warning. “Your Grandfather called.”

“Is everything okay?” Lucy called. “It's alright, we're not mad. We just want to see if you're okay.”

Micheal stayed still. If they didn't reveal themselves, the couple might leave. As long as David's gang didn't show up before then.

Please just leave, please please just leave. He should have gone down there as soon as his mother called, gone and bodily shoved her out the door. Out where she'd be safe. Out with a pack of vampires.

Damnit, why did all his plans have a downside?

“I hope Nanuk is alright,” his mother was saying. “Usually he'll come down to greet visitors.”

“I'm sure he'll turn up eventually,” Max said, his voice sweet, like week old vegetables.

“Mum?” Micheal stepped forward. Sam's hand tightened on his arm. “Mum?”

His mum rushed forward a few steps into the darkened atrium. “Micheal, is that you? Is everything alright?”

Micheal shook off Sam's hand and hurried down the stairs. “Mum.”

His mother's warm face greeted him as he stopped, leaning on the end of the banister. “Micheal, what's wrong, why are you sitting up in the dark?”

Sam was behind him. The Frog brothers had elected to stay up top.

“I think we,” Lucy started, unsure. “Can we turn some lights on in here?” She turned and gestured to Max.

Max turned without taking his eyes off Micheal. He walked over to the wall and flicked the switch. The room brightened as though the sun had just been turned on. Micheal screwed his eyes shut.

“Whoo,” his mother said to the room at large. “That's bright. What were you doing in the dark?” There was a thunk. “Sam!”

Micheal blinked his eyes open, focusing them on his mother. She was looking over his shoulder at his brother.

“What have I told you about leaning on that banister?”

“I wasn't!” Sam protested.

“Sam!” His mother's annoyance was showing. “I am very disappointed in you!”

Micheal didn't feel well. His attention wandered from his mother while she was busy lecturing his brother. Asking him why he'd told Grandpa the widow had called. It slowly turned to Max. Sweat broke out over him again and the shivers started up his back. They'd been happening on and off for the last few hours. He shook his head.

“Micheal!” His mother looked worried and annoyed. “You're not listening to me.”

“I'm fine mum,” he mumbled.

His mother sighed and slapped her hands together. “What has gotten in to you two!”

I feel sick, Micheal wanted to say. But he didn't. Because his mother was here, and he had to think because his brothers were coming soon. No. The vampires. His eyelid twitched. He really should say something.

Sam touched him on the arm. “Say something, Mike!”

“Piss off,” he said reflexively. His whole back was shivering.

“Micheal!” His mother said again. “Language.”

He turned to look at his mother. He felt very far away. She was looking at him with a concerned frown.

“Why did Grandpa ring you, Mum?” Sam asked.

His mother turned her head to look at them both, annoyance spreading all over her face. “He thought I should come home right away. Why did you tell him his friend was expecting him?”

Sam bounced a shrug, and stepped back. “He called you.”

“He did.” His mother gave a huff. “Is this another one of your schemes to disrupt our dinner plans?”

They were both silent.

His mother cocked her head. “Well is it?”

“Why?” Micheal asked. He didn't like Max. The looming man was creeping slowly up behind his mother. On the back of his neck, he could feel pools of sweat.

His other ear popped.

Max stopped and looked at Micheal quizzically. The glasses on his face distorted his eyes. “Why didn't you answer us when we called?” He asked.

Micheal shrugged very slowly. He wanted to –. He didn't know what he wanted to do. He ducked his head. He felt intimidated and sullen. He didn't want to say anything.

Behind him, Sam leaned over the banister, passed him. “We were playing hide and go seek in the dark.”

His mother put out her hand, two fingers pointed down. She flicked them forward one after the other. “You two? Together?” She let out a sigh. “You know, I would appreciate if you didn't lie to me. I'm not that – Well. I would rather you told the truth please.”

Sam whined and Micheal tensed. He was watching Max. Max was looking on with a small smile. Only the small smile was fixed and hadn't wavered for the whole while Lucy had been speaking. He didn't want his brother talking near this stranger.

“Mum!” Sam whined. “We were playing with the Frog brothers.”

“Now young man, I have had just about enough out of the both of you! Really. I can't leave you alone for five minutes without there being a problem!” Lucy sighed, distraught. “I just don't know any more, I just don't know.”

Max went over to Lucy and sank his palms over her shoulders. “Don't worry about it Lucy, we'll sort this out.”

Micheal felt nauseous. His fingers twitched violently on the banister. Max was staring at him.

“Who's letting all the heat out?” A withered voice asked from the doorway.

“Oh, Dad!” Lucy exclaimed, looking around her boyfriend. Grandpa stood at the doorway. Micheal didn't want to take his eyes off Max for a second. He ran them down over the man's lurid yellow undershirt. Max caught his eyes again as Lucy stepped away toward her father. He smiled awkwardly.

Micheal frowned. Was this man really interested in his mother?

“Oh Dad, I was so worried.” Grandpa had Lucy's hands in his. “I just don't know what to do, I just don't.”

Grandpa flicked his eyes to Max, then toward Micheal, and then over to Sammy. He nodded and put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. “Don't worry dear, we'll sort this out.”

Micheal's lip lifted again as he caught the words. He took the effort to tug it down again.

Max snorted. “Well boys, buck up. No hard feelings. Perhaps it was a small misunderstanding.”

The light glittered strangely on the man's glasses. Beside him, he could feel Sam suck in a breath.

Grandpa was leading his mother into the kitchen. Max gave Micheal an extra long look before smiling awkwardly again, and then following the elders into the kitchen.

Micheal didn't take his eyes off him until he was out of sight. He didn't like him being out of sight, either.

He looked up at the landing above. The Frog brothers were gone.

Sam put a hand on Micheal's shoulder. “I'll take care of this. Just don't freak out, okay?”

“What?” But his brother was already racing up the stairs. Frustrated, he put his hand to his head. He felt dizzy and odd. The room was moving slowly in circles, and yet not moving at all.

Where was David and his gang? What had happened while he was asleep? He'd gotten Laddie and Starr out. He remembered that bit. They were up on the bed upstairs.

He didn't like Max sniffing around his mother, either. He put a hand to his head. He felt drained and hungry. His belly rumbled.

“Micheal,” his mother called from the kitchen. “Would you come here a minute?”

Micheal nodded slightly. He felt nauseous. He walked into the kitchen.

The two men were leaning on the table eying each other. Granpa didn't look happy.

His mother stepped up to him. “We thought it was better if we didn't go out again. Max and I will take some wine in the kitchen.” She sighed, then shook her head, coming to him and taking his arm. “Can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

“Yeah Mum.” His voice sounded weak.

She guided him through the kitchen side door and out onto the verandah. When the door banged shut, he jumped.

His mother looked at him quizzically. She lead him away from the light of the door. The light outside was bright. He looked up. No moon. Quickly, he looked down, aware that his vision wasn't normal. He didn't want to think about it.

His mother let go of his arm and stepped away. She seemed reluctant to let go. “Micheal,” she started. “Can we please talk?”

Micheal groaned, tilting his head back. They'd been through this. “Mum.”

She touched his arm again. “Micheal, I'm your mother, I'm worried about you. Are you feeling sick?” She put her hand up to his face. He didn't like that. He shook his head to get it away.

“Micheal,” Lucy begged. “I know you're old enough to take care of yourself but--”

“I just have a cold, mum.” He couldn't tell her the truth. She wouldn't believe him.

“Are you sure?” She reached up to touch his brow. He felt the cool press of a hand before she jumped back, yelping. “Oh, you're hot!”

He looked down at her. She was so small and vulnerable. With that round face and her little cap of hair. The lines around her eyes twitched when she blinked. Her eyelashes whipped. She was flicking her fingers rapidly as though he had burned her.

There was dirt on her cheek. He reached a hand and flicked it off. She looked surprised for a moment.

“Had an eyelash,” Micheal explained. His voice felt far away.

“Micheal, you don't look well. I think we should get you to bed.”

She was looking at him with that concerned face. She touched his arm, gripped his shirt sleeve.

“Mum, I'm alright, really.” He pulled his arm away. She was too close. He could hear the gentle breath flowing out of her lungs across her lip. He shook his head.

“Micheal.” Kind pleading.

“No, mum.”

She grabbed his arms. The shivers started again. The soft part of her neckline against her chest. He imagined all the little veins under the skin. Saw it throbbing tumultuously with her panic.

He screwed his eyes shut. “No.” He told himself, forcing his head away.

“Micheal!” His mother grabbed at him and he pushed her. He'd heard his name enough for a lifetime.

She stumbled away from him, tripping over her heels and landing with a thump on her rear. She looked up at him, confusion and surprise colouring her eyes.

He felt sick. He couldn't be there. He shook his head violently. The world crashed and shivered out of control.

Micheal.

“Mum, I'm sorry.”

The irresistible tug and pull toward something, like a heavy rock about his neck, pulling him down under the surface. The surface of something deep and black without colour.

It forced his head away from her, up the drive. He'd run into the woods. He couldn't hurt them if he wasn't near them.

She called him as he ran. Another voice joined it. And then he was over the dirt of the road and across the fence. Away, into the trees.

Branches whipped passed him, their bows opening in the dark, like grabbing hands. But even as the images blurred, he could make them out perfectly well.

He swallowed. His throat felt dry. He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about it. Because then that strange compulsion, the one that had driven him to try to attack his brother, would come crashing back over him.

The pain in his belly clenched, seized him, and he fell, skidding. He stopped, crawled backwards. His back touched a tree. He clawed his way up it.

“Micheal! Micheal!” That was Starr's voice, plaintive and scared.

His breathing raked through his throat. In. Out. He could feel the sweat oozing over his brow. He knew the bark of the tree should scratch, but the pins and needles were prickling his skin. He couldn't feel it.

His belly clenched. His gut twisted, and he was forced onto the ground again.

“Micheal!” Nauseous, he couldn't look up. Hands fell on him. “Get up, please get up, Micheal. You have to hang on.”

Images flashed through his mind. His mother and that dark skin. The lines across the dip of her shoulder. So close. Hand touching him. And the smell. Like a deep thick syrup.

Starr smelled different, not the same. He pushed at her hands.

“Micheal!” She whined again.

“Starr.” His voice was a croak. His throat felt stuffy and clogged. Milk. He hadn't wanted milk. Nothing in the fridge had smelled right.

He needed to go and find the right smell. He clutched at Starr and she tugged back. He rose to his feet. She scrabbled to pull him close. But the touching hurt his skin. He was on fire.

“I have to...” He couldn't remember what he had to do. He pressed his eyelids together hard. There was a thumping in his ears. It was growing steadily louder. His muscles were bunching across his body. There were lights in his eyes.

Starr grabbed his face and turned it so she could look in his eyes. “No, Micheal, don't. Please.”

The direct stare bothered him. He closed his eyes, leaning to the side. She pulled him back, putting her forehead to his. She kissed him.

Wrong. It was the wrong thing against his lips. Smelled all wrong. He put a hand to his belly as it clenched. Pain screwed through him, centering in his gut. He clutched at it, doubling over.

“Micheal, Micheal.” He could hear her panic. “Oh God Micheal. I don't know how to help you. I'm sorry. I don't know.”

Save me Micheal. That's what he heard. Useless. Her hands were useless as they touched him awkwardly. He clenched his jaw, screwing his eyes shut. The rage roiled through him and then away.

He needed something. His insides were boiling.

He needed something. He wouldn't find it there with Starr. There was a tug and a call into his mind, guiding his awareness. He pulled himself to his feet.

Star clutched at his arm. “Micheal. Micheal, what are you doing?”

He pulled out of her grip. He could smell bodies. Warm bodies. Salty with sweat. That syrupy, sugary smell. They were to his left. The woods were dark, but he knew where they were. He shivered.

He started out for them, his feet moving of their own accord. Like a drunken marionette, he stalked forward. He leaned sideways drunkenly, then righted himself.

Starr was behind him. She was following him. He tasted the tang of something from her. And sweat and salt. Urine, he realised, was the acrid stench he could smell. She was quivering like a junky with no money and nothing to sell.

There were bodies ahead. He could feel them there under the trees.

“Aaron, I'm scared.” A high voice. A baby's voice.

“Don't be a wuss, Kylie.”

“But I'm scared. I think we should go home.” A thunk of little shoes on ground.

“Don't be a wuss! All we have to do is bring a branch back.”

“But. But.” There was shuffling. “Mum said not to go in to the woods at night.”

“Mum said don't go anywhere at night.” A snap. “Shut up would you?”

Micheal stalked closer, slowed. He felt Starr behind him. She was breathing hard. He could smell the warm bodies in front of him, giving off an earthy scent.

There was another snap, and then a crack.

“Aaron, I don't think that branch is coming off.”

“Kylie! Jesus, would you shut up.” Grunting and ripping.

“I'm telling Mum you said a bad word.”

The little one was away from the big one. She was standing further back. Micheal crept closer, crouching. There was a large boulder to the right, in front of him. He crawled up it. He could see the two there below him, very close.

Starr hadn't followed that close. “Micheal, no.” He could hear her whisper even though she was a body length away from him.

He closed his eyes, swallowed. The scent was cloying his sinuses. His vision was closing in. He bunched his shoulder blades against the quivering.

“Aaron.” The little one sounded scared.

She was standing underneath him. He inched out, opening his eyes. She was small, with clumpy blond hair. Her light skin stood out pale against the dark of the forest. She was clutching a teddy. Her little pink shoes were turned in with her feet.

She tilted her head and backed up against the boulder. Micheal could see the vein running along her shoulder. Up to curve around her skull.

A heartbeat was strong in his ears. It was his own. He rose to a crouch, leaning forward over her. The baby girl was breathing hard with anxiousness. Across from her, more snaps and scraping.

“Micheal no.”

Something touched his arm and he jerked. It startled him and he pushed forward. A scream as he thumped down beside the child. She dropped her teddy and ran backwards away from him. He was on his hands and knees.

He could smell her fear. Slowly, he rose, feeling drunk. Parched and wrong. He sniffed the air, growled low.

“Kylie!” A panicked yell, and something hit him on the head. A branch, it nicked him. He lashed out with a hand and the boy jumped back away.

He shook his head. No, no. Attacking children. Attacking his food to eat. Movement in his peripherals.

He stepped forward and grasped the little girl. She pushed back at him, her little fingernails scratching.

“Kylie!” The little boy was panicking.

She was warm against his palm, slippery. He realised it was his sweat. Her heart was beating with adrenaline.

He pushed her head to the side with a thumb. Her neck was like cream. That was where you were supposed to bite, wasn't it? He leaned in, mesmerized. Creamy skin under his lips, preparing to kiss and bite down. The throat was moving with the girl's cries and gasps of fear. He closed his eyes and felt the globes of them roll up in his sockets.

And then the meal flew away from him.

He snarled, enraged. He opened his eyes, leaning forward.

Starr, the girl in her arms, leaped back away from him. She stopped against a tree trunk, pulling the girl to one side, protecting her bodily. The boy, dark skinned with huge eyes, cowered behind her.

Micheal stopped. His blood was rushing through his veins. He was hot, and sick. He shook his head, his hair flying around his face.

“Micheal!”

He roared and Starr cowered. Taking his meal. She'd taken it. She was shaking, but not all from fear. She was sick, too. The little boy began to piss himself.

Starr had her head resolutely turned away from Micheal. “Don't look at him, don't look at his eyes,” she was whispering frantically. “Just tilt your head back. Do it. Do it now. Don't talk. Don't look at him.”

The little girl in her arms whimpered. Micheal growled low in his throat.

“Micheal.” Starr swallowed. “Micheal, please just leave. Please.” She wouldn't look at him. Her neck was bared slightly as she tilted up her throat. He saw the veins of her throat spidering up her long neck. Lovely.

She was, what? Submitting to him. He sighed out a long breath, watching her for a moment. Her dark eyes looked afraid. Her head tilted in submission. Yes.

There was cold ice racing up his spine, chasing lines out in patterns under his skin. He turned, hunched. Starr was. Starr was submitting. He liked that.

The beach. He'd go back to the beach. He put his hands out in front of him. They were shaking. He leaped high over the boulders. He would find something else.


	3. 3

Sam dashed up the stairs toward the bedroom. Night terrors aside, they'd hurt that itty bitty vampire. They needed a plan C. He didn't think Goldielocks would appreciate them breaking into their lair, even if the Frogs hadn't managed to harm his friend.

He skidded into the room. “Micheal's downstairs talking to Mum --” He stopped. The poofy haired vampire lady was standing next to the window. Her curtain had fallen off. She was hovering in front of the kid, whose face looked like it'd just ran full smack into a wet picasso painting.

“Woah, holy shit!”

Edgar and Allen stood in front of the pair, stakes raised. Sam put his hands out. “What's going on?”

“We have to stake these two before they cause any trouble.” Edgar shot forward, grabbing the girl's arm.

“Wait!” The girl yelled. Behind her, the little vamp was growling and spitting.

Sam ran forward, shoving Alan aside and grabbing Edgar around the waist. His sneaker slipped on the wood floor and they toppled backwards. His head hit the ground hard and he saw a cacophony of lights.

He was knocked silly for a moment and Edgar climbed off him.

“Shit man, are you okay?” That was Alen.

“No!” He tried to sit up, clutching at the back of his head.

The girl had her hand out. “Just wait a sec, okay!” The little kid was trying to get out of her grip. “He's just scared! He's just scared!”

“Blood suckers don't feel fear.” Edgar with his affected voice. “Just the taste of the kill.”

Sam put his hand up, wincing. “They're not vampires,” he asserted.

Edgar wasn't listening to him. He went in to swing at them with the stake, flurrying it at him.

“No!” The girl pushed back, taking the kid with her into the corner away from Edgar. “We're half! We're only half!”

“Half bloodsuckers?” Edgar asked. He raised the stake above his shoulder again.

“We only turn when we make our first kill.”

Sam sat up. The girl was bent forward towards the Frog brothers, hand outstretched. She was breathing hard, sweaty.

“A vampire trick,” Edgar said.

“No, no, wait!” Sam pushed himself up and grabbed the hem of Edgar's shirt before he could lunge. “She's sweating! Don't you see?”

“What?” Alan was looking at him as though he'd gone mad.

“Vampires don't sweat!” He'd read it in the comic. Vampire's couldn't sweat. “Like their sweat holes are all closed up or something.” He pushed himself up. Everyone had stopped to look at him. “Remember?”

If vampires couldn't sweat, he wondered if they could shit. Then again, they didn't eat food.

“Hmm.” Edgar turned, stroking his chin. He looked the girl up and down. She looked tense and hopeful. “It is true, she is sweating.”

Edgar and Alan put their heads together for a moment. Sam leaned in.

“Should we just leave her how she is?” Alan asked.

“Not much choice,” said Sam. “We don't kill civilians.”

“They're not civilians,” Edgar growled.

“If you destroy the head vampire, you destroy the curse,” Sam hissed. He couldn't let them kill a girl and a little boy.

“We can't keep them here,” Alan hissed.

“Then where'll we keep em?” Sam asked, raising his voice.

“It's okay,” the girl's voice interjected. “We can go.”

“Where'll you go?” Sam asked, pushing his head up. “Out there with the curly chompers?”

The girl shook her head. “I have a place to go. It's okay. It's just until dawn. They'll be too preoccupied to chase us.”

Edgar looked at her, suspicious. “And let a bloodsucker go?”

“I'm not a bloodsucker,” the girl said, fear written across her face. “I haven't hurt anyone.”

“So she says.” Edgar barked.

“I--” The girl's attention snapped to the window. “Micheal,” she breathed, lunging forward.

Edgar scrambled out of the way as though she was made of chiles. Sam moved back as well. The kid was pressed back in the corner, still with the Eddie Munster face. He was looking at them warily.

A gust of wind as the window was opened.

“Hey,” Sam called. The girl was climbing into the frame of the window. “Hey, take Frankenwiener with you!” But then she was gone, her dress trailing her as she fell.

“Damnit!” Edgar raged, running to the window. “Bloodsucker got away!”

Sam rushed up behind him, craning to look over his shoulder. His mother was down there. No sign of the girl.

“Is that your Mum?” Alan asked, pushing him aside.

She had her arms up, hands against her hair. She was moving slowly backwards. She turned and ran inside.

Something to the side growled loud and low. Sam looked right. The little kid was crouched in the corner.

“I think we have bigger problems,” Sam said.

The brothers turned. Seeing the kid, they grimaced and backed up. The kid stared at them, growling as they went. Sam's back hit the wall.

“Shit,” Edgar said, high pitched. “What do we do now?”

“I tell you what we don't do,” said Alan. His voice was high pitched. “Run!”

And then he took off for the door.

Sam was confused. “Wait, what are we not supposed to do?”

The kid snarled, crouching low. He started to advance.

“Shit!” Edgar shot off after his brother.

Sam pressed himself up against the wall. The kid looked ready to bite him, and at the level the kid was on, it'd be on his balls. He didn't want vampire balls!

He looked to his right. The door was wide open. He looked back at the kid.

“Right,” he said softly. “No sudden movements.”

Screw that. He lunged to the right, running full pelt toward the door. He grabbed the handle as he passed, slamming it back full force with him. Something bashed into the door behind him, making the whole wall shudder. He pulled back, planting his feet on each side of the frame.

Edgar and Alan ran up to him. “Holy fuck,” Alan was saying.

“Sam!” His mother's voice. “What is going on up there?”

“Nothing Mum!” He called, his voice strangled. The door bumped in its frame again. His hands were slippery on the brass knob. On the other side, it began to turn. He held on for dear life. No way a normal kid could be that strong.

Edgar and Alen took hold of his shoulders, leaning their weight in as well. No way was Mini-Mothra getting that door open.

“Sam, if I have to come up there, you're grounded Mister!”

“It's nothing, Mum!”

“Just--” There was a pause. “Just wait up there until we sort this out, okay?”

There was growling emanating from behind the door. A thunk rattled the frame.

“Okay Mum!”

There was a ripping noise as something scraped along the paint on the other side.

“Holy shit!” Edgar pulled back on him again. The door jerked and his fingers slipped. He caught it before they all fell.

There was scrabbling at the other side. A growl, and then nothing.

Sam and the brothers stood there leaning on the door, waiting. No attack came.

“You think he's done?” Sam asked.

No one answered him. They stared at the door, waiting for it to burst open. Slowly, he let go of the knob, keeping his hands about in case he had to grab it again.

“Shit,” Edgar was saying, breathless. “Shit.”

They backed away from the door. Sam kept his arms against the Frog brother's chests. “What are we gonna do?” He breathed.

Edgar quivered suddenly. “You have an adjoining bathroom right?”

“Holy shit.” Sam rushed to the other door, pushing it open. He swiped his head around, searching the room. Nothing. The bathroom door was closed.

“Quick,” he breathed. “Barricade the door.”

The brothers went straight for the cupboard in the corner. With their combined strength, they managed to flip it over, pushing it in front of the door.

“Push the bed up!” They rushed to the bed and heaved it over, pushing it into the cupboard and wedging it there.

“Will that hold?” Sam asked the brothers as they backed away.

“It should, for now.” Edgar intoned. “That vamp's a pedophile waiting to happen.”

Sam turned to him, incredulous. “What?” Sometimes he wondered if they Frogs knew what they were saying at all ever.

Both brothers stared at him for a moment, as though expecting him to say something. He sighed. “Okay look. We've got Mum downstairs with Fashion Victim of the year and grandpa. Micheal could chomp us any time soon, gypsy girl has taken a vacation, and we've got Freddie Crugar Jr. locked up in the bedroom.”

“Don't forget the bloodthirsty killers about to descend, fangs drawn.” Edgar provided.

Alan nodded his head, slowly. “Partay. Yeah.”

“Guys!” Sam protested. “This is serious!” He considered for a moment. “We have to warn Mum.”

“What again?” Edgar protested. Sam shook his head. He turned to jog out of the room. It was like some sort of horror movie. The thing from the black lagoon. One of the frog brothers'd prolly twist an ankle in a second.

He stopped in the doorway, swinging around to look at them. “She's not gonna believe us.”

He was panicking. He knew it. But he also needed to do something. Some action. He tamped a lid on the panic and let it settle into his chest.

The Frog brothers were looking at each other. “What? For God's sake what?” He felt like Mike.

“Ah,” Alan hazarded. “We might have a way to get them all out of here.”

He looked from one to the other. They both looked sheepish.

“But we may have to call the fire brigade,” Edgar informed him.

*

The sand scrunched under his feet as he drunkenly swayed onto the beach. It was quiet. The lights of the street behind him illuminated patches of stone and grit. There was a breeze. It made the grass wave and struggle. It flicked his calves as he walked passed. The ocean was dark.

Across the water, the many multicoloured lights swirled and glittered. The theme park right on the boardwalk. That was where David and the others would be. And he would be here.

He collapsed in the sand. It puffed up around him. There was salt in his eyes and in his nose and throat. It pulled all the liquid out of him and made him choke.

He gagged, leaning over. Pictures of warm wetness curled through his mind's eye. The thump and beat of the veins in the neck of that little girl. Her brother, darker of skin and just as luscious.

“Damnit!” He shook his head. He couldn't think like that. He needed to forget it, along with that frenzy at the bonfire.

His shadow pushed long out in front of him, joining the others at the edge of the waves. Another shadow joined his.

“Hey punk,” a sly voice. It broke him from his odd trance. “Who're you?”

More shadows joined. Scuffing through sand. At least five of them. There was a buzzing in his head. He gagged again. Saliva dripped down his chin, plopping onto his sneaker.

A vicious hand grabbed his shoulder. Knee rammed into his back, arching his spine. “Get up.”

He got up, stumbling backwards. The sky churned dizzily above him. The muscles in his legs quivered when he tried to stand.

“Answer me when I'm talking to you, punk.” Hands grabbed him, turned him, pulled his arm up behind his back. He was looking into the light.

Face leaned close. “Heheh, this one looks drunk.”

Gangs roamed the beaches all through Santa Carla. It was a well known fact that if you were stupid enough to hang around at night, you would get robbed. His mother had told him this. It had been the same when she was a little girl.

The face in front of his was elongated, with a chin like a fish and a stud through its nose. Micheal blinked at it, trying to focus.

Hands inserted themselves into his jacket pockets, rooting around. His wallet came up in front of his face. It waggled between two fingers.

“What do we have here?” Laughter behind him. His spine was on fire. His lip twitched. He could feel the beginnings of a growl. He didn't like people touching his stuff. And with the irritation brought on by sickness, it was like they were poking a boil.

The gang banger flicked at his earring and laughed. “What's this?” He grinned. “Looks fag. Where'd you get it?”

From Starr. Starr had pierced his ear. David had given her the shiny dangle. He shook his head. The words in his head were jumbled. His head was hot. He felt weak and starved. He tried to move his arms. The beefy guy behind him was strong. But when he twisted his wrist, he could still move the guy's arm.

“Woah.” The big man adjusted his grip. “He's strong, boss.”

The one in front of Micheal flicked his eyes up to the big guy. “Shut up Fred.” He was busy patting his hands over Micheal's pockets. Micheal was too nauseous to protest. Something jingled in his hip pocket. “What's this?”

The guy pulled out the keys to Micheal's bike. He grinned up at Fred. “Ho ho ho!” The big guy gloated.

“We'll just be taking these,” the punk grinned, jingling the keys in front of Micheal's face.

Micheal twisted his arm, kicking out as he did so. He nailed the punk in the gut and the guy doubled over. He pushed back with his shoulders, turning out of the muscle's grip, swinging. He caught the big guy on the jaw.

Two more grabbed at his shoulders and he ducked, ramming his elbows backwards. One went down, and the other was coming up around his side. He turned and grabbed the boy by the neck, dragging him forward. He wrenched his head to the side with a crack, leaned in and ripped at the flesh with his teeth.

Blood spurted into his face as the kid screamed. He ignored it, leaning in to close his mouth over the wound. Syrup pumped itself into his mouth. He scrabbled with his hands, trying to get a grip on the flailing arms.

He groaned as the liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed and the blood flowed into him, down into his parched insides. He closed his eyes.

The boy was trying to scream. He could feel it. His eyes rolled up and he groaned long and low. The horrible aching need inside him had finally been stoppered. A twinge started at the top of his forehead, zinging back. Something snapped inside his head, and he was letting the boy fall from him to slump at his feet.

A man was to his right. He was leaning back in the dirt screaming. Micheal looked at him casually, trying to focus. He leaned down, grabbing for the man's arm. The man punched him. He grunted, looking down. But it hadn't hurt. He looked the punk in the eyes. He could smell and taste the man's fear. He licked at the air.

“Hey! Hey!”

Micheal snapped his head to the side. A shape, portly, standing at the side of the road, shining a torch down onto the sand in front of him. There was a car behind the silhouette. Cop lights on the top.

Micheal looked back at the punk in the dirt. He shot an arm forward. So fast, strong. He liked the feeling. He looked down at his hand. Long, yellowed claws arched out of his fingers. He clenched his claws into his prey's jacket and the man whimpered, looking up at him.

Torchlight in his face, then trailing down the punk's body to the one at his feet.

“Holy shit!” The officer's voice. Micheal looked back to the intruder.

“Fuck!” Another one, behind the cop car, jumping out. “Bern, don't go over there!” He tripped on his own feet. “Shit.”

Micheal growled low in his throat. No one was about to interrupt his meal again.

Bern's torch was wavering on the dead one. There were others splayed out in the sand. They looked too petrified to move.

“Bern. Bern. Seriously. Back away.” The shorter, skinnier one was stepping up beside the larger officer. “Hey,” he said quietly, holding out his hands. “Hey, it's cool. Go on. Go back to what you were doing.”

The last was to him, Micheal realised. He narrowed his eyes. He growled again, turning it into a long, low, constant noise. The guy in his hand whimpered and he snapped his head to face him, snarling.

“You can't be serious!” Bern was protesting.

“Yes,” the smaller guy said. “Yes, I am. Get back in the car, Bern.”

“But we have --”

“Get back in the car, Bern. As your superior, I am ordering you to get back in the car.”

Micheal's grip tightened on the punk's jacket. He could see the fear making the blood pump harder through the guy's veins. He leaned in, slowly closing his teeth against the neck.

“We have to --”

“We have procedure on this thing, Bern, and it involves getting back in the car.”

Blood bubbled up under Micheal's fangs. He groaned again as it entered his mouth.

“I don't understand!” But Bern must have heard the warning in his companion's voice because there was the slamming of a car door. “What about the siren?” The voice was muffled.

“I wouldn't startle that thing on the beach back there.” The engine revved. “I'll explain back at the station.”

The car peeled out as he ripped a hole in the punk's neck. No more noises as he drank the kid's life force. That was better. As it should be. No interruptions.

He let the body drop. It slumped onto its friend. He put the back of his hand up to his mouth. The others were gone. Ran away up along the beach. He shook his head, looking down at the bodies. They were dead. He'd killed things.

But he couldn't feel anything in his head. No shame. No remorse. No prickling of guilt up the back of his neck. Nothing in his thoughts but that he'd fed, and now he was full. Full of liquid that was churning in his belly.

His gut clenched and he yelped, doubling over. His insides roiled once more and he gasped. The ice clawed its way up his spine and onto the back his neck, gripping him there. Implanting itself as it curled over his skull. It pinned claws into the front of his brain and he screamed. He felt it rip into him.

And then nothing.

The wind moaned out of the night sky, puffing and frothing the waves. The salt and water sifted the air, dancing with the wind. Grass pattered itself against his sneakers.

He lifted a hand, patting it over his chest. Whole. No pain, no discomfort, just the realisation that he was suddenly different. That the thing that had been happening to him had stopped happening and instead become him. He blinked, and of a sudden, the world was sharper. He lifted his hand, looking at the back. He could see the little hairs, the way they moved individually. The claws were gone, and this fingers looked once again human.

He blinked, slightly disoriented.

He could smell the beach, the salt and the sand. There was a scent coming to him from the breeze. Various warm bodies. Sweat, bodily odours. A dog had passed that way.

Scent was lifting off the bodies at his feet. Flesh and blood. But drying blood. It was dead and he was done. He could hear them settling into the ground. Their hearts weren't beating.

He looked up. He felt a tug in his head. It felt like the breeze had caught him up and swirled about him, pulling him. Telling him the direction he needed to go.

Micheal.

He put a foot out. It met sand. He swallowed, looking toward the road. The breath of wind called. He jogged to catch up.

*

“Is that a firework?”

“Correction,” Alan said, holding up the long string of crackers. “Chinese wizzbangs.”

Edgar nodded. “Good for New Years Eve and popping leeches.”

Sam glared. “And getting my arse grounded. Do you know how much Mum would freak if she saw you had those in the house?”

“It'll get her out of the house,” Alan asserted.

Sam crossed his arms. “Yeah, and scare my dog, and everyone else.”

Edgar bounced a shrug. “Then get the dog out of the house.”

Sam rolled his head around, exasperated. “And how are we supposed to defend against the legions of the undead with our house burning down around our ears?”

The brothers both shrugged in sync.

“Sam!”

Sam jumped. His mother calling. She sounded tired and out of sorts. He turned, running to the bedroom door, leaning on the frame.

“What is all that noise up there. Are you shifting furniture?”

“No Mum!” He called. He turned to the Frog brothers, gesturing for silence. He didn't want his Mum to know they were up there. Not now. Not when legions of the undead could be coming to devour them at any second.

“Can you come here for a minute, please? We need to talk.”

Sam looked at the brothers, then the fireworks. The brothers looked down at their hands. Edgar reached into his pocket. Sam gestured frantically as the boy removed an ornate lighter.

“Just a minute, I'm busy!” Sam called toward the door.

Alan made an annoyed face, pointing to the ground, mouthing emphatically. “What?” Sam mouthed back.

“Oh! Sam Emerson!” His mother didn't sound like her normal patient self. She sounded at the end of her rope, utterly sick of anything and everything and certainly not tolerant of shenanigans. Mum thought Sam liked shenanigans. But he didn't, honest. “Young man, come down here right this instant!”

Sam looked at the bed against the door, then back to the Frog brothers. They both gestured wildly at him, flinging their arms around in silence.

“But Mum!” Sam called back towards the door.

“Now!” Emphatic and brooking no resistance. Sam groaned. He really, really needed to brook right now.

He gritted his teeth, turning toward the hall. Changing his mind, he turned, wobbling back to the Frog brothers. They gave him hard stares. Allan narrowed his eyes. Edgar wiggled his brows.

Sam fixed them a look back. “Don't do anything unless I'm here,” he hissed quietly. He pointed two fingers at them, waggling the digits back and forth. They didn't move and he began backing out the door. The looked at each other, then down at the fireworks. Sam hesitated.

“Sam!” His mother called a warning.

Sam sighed in frustration.

“Coming Mum!” he called, turning into the hall. He hurried out across the landing and grabbed the railing, jogging down the staircase. His mother stood near the bottom step, arms crossed. She looked up at him from under her brows as he descended. He jumped down the last two and stopped near her, clenching his jaw. He knew what was going on. Mum didn't. Micheal wasn't there. It was his turn to save Mum. If Micheal could just stop being an arse and find the head vampire. But it was no use wishing right then. Right then it was time to start taking some action.

“Now that's better I'm–”

“Mum,” Sam said, grabbing his mother's arm before she could finish. He forced urgency into his voice. “Mum, you have to listen to me.”

“Sam?” Lucy's face fell into concern. Predictable Mum. Good, that meant that she'd listen to him.

“Mum, we have to find Micheal,” Sam started, unsure where to go with that sentence. “Its really important, Mum.” Lame.

His mother let out an explosive breath. She closed her eyes, clenching them together, then opened them, looking tired.

“Oh Sam,” she said, tilting her head. A sad expression wavered over her face and she lifted a hand. “Its okay, we'll figure this out.” She trailed fingers down his cheek. “I know Micheal's been distant lately.”

“No, Mum,” Sam pressed. She wasn't listening at all. “I mean, yeah, he has, but not for the reasons you think!”

Lucy pressed her lips into a compassionate smile. “Hey –”

“Mum.” Sam gripped his mother's arm tighter. “Mum,” he said again, trying to look serious. Determined. Heroic. “Mum, Mike tried to kill me.”

“Sam!” An angry exclamation. She tried to pull away, shock curling across her face.

“He's a vampire, Mum!” He gripped her tighter again, and Lucy's eyebrows came down, frustrated.

“Sam!” This time lower, dragging the syllable out and glaring.

“No, Mum, you have to listen to me, Micheal he's not --”

Lucy tried to squirm out of his grip. “Sam, you're hurting me, Sam!” She twisted and he let go.

Lucy stared at her son for a moment. She took a breath and stepped back, holding her arm. She looked hurt, and pale. She rubbed at her elbow.

“Sam,” she hissed. “I am so disappointed right now. So disappointed.”

Sam tucked his chin in to his chest. He hesitated, and his mother started to shake. “Mum,” he croaked, guilt creaking up the back of his neck. He'd hurt his Mum.

“What is the matter with you?” Lucy blinked and water appeared on her lashes. “We're trying to find out what's going on with your brother and you're busy with this silly vendetta about Max.” She hitched a breath. “I need a life outside you and your brother, too. And you're grounded.”

Sam screwed his face up. “Mum!” He begged. No, no, no. Not now. Not when he had the undead to kill. Sorta kill. Be killed by.

Mum hesitated for a moment, the same concern she'd always shown crinkling her face. Then it fell, determined. “I mean it,” she said firmly, and Sam's gut slipped. “What is going on with you guys? If this continues, I don't know if I might have to do something drastic.”

Sam cringed. “No, Mum. I wasn't doing anything, I swear.” He lurched toward his mother, out of his own control, suddenly very desperate for a hug and the rosy smell of her cardigan.

Lucy set her mouth, seeing his intent. Then relenting, she leaned in, gathering her hands around her younger son's shoulders and pressing a hand to the nape of his neck. He tucked his head in against the scratchy wool and inhaled. Mother.

“Its alright. Hey. Come on. Come to the kitchen, we need to have a chat, okay?” She petted his shoulder like a small animal. Letting him go some, she guided him gently along toward the lit up kitchen area. “You're still grounded, though, Mister.”

Sam sighed letting his mother steer him.

The room was lit up like a bonfire. Both overhead lights were turned on, three lamps going on the table. The cords trailed along the floor in a mess of extensions. Sam barely raised a brow. He'd filled a bathtub full of garlic. He din't have no nevermind.

Mum's new boyfriend leaned casually at the bench, vomit inducing tie curled against his chest. Seeing him standing there, Sam realised how tall he was. He crossed his arms, curling forward over them. He didn't like Max. Max was too big and too loud, and kept coming over trying to kiss his Mum. Mums didn't kiss people! Mums took you to school and sporadically baked cookies. Probably while you were at school.

Grandpa stood before the screen door to the veranda with his arms crossed much like Sam. He looked worn. “Hey, champ,” he said when he saw Sam come in.

Sam looked back at his Mum. She had a crooked smile on her face. She let him go.

“Is this an intervention?” Sam was suspicious. “I'm not on drugs Mum.”

“No!” Lucy looked shocked. “No, I don't think you're on drugs.”

“Its okay son,” Max gestured to the middle of the kitchen. “Sit down.”

“Hmm,” Grandpa shifted his shoulders and looked at the intruder. He didn't say anything else, but he looked tense.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but I don't even know what LSD stands for.” He moved to sit at the kitchen table.

His Mum crossed her own arms, glaring at Granpa. “Dad, have you got something to say?”

Grandpa shook his head. “No, I don't have anything to say.” He closed his mouth in a prim line. His eyes darted elusively toward the window. Sam noticed Grandpa's weed plants had disappeared.

“Well.” His Mum looked flustered for a moment. She jerked and moved over to the table, pulling out the chair to the right of Sam.

She sat down slowly, a smile plastered on her face. Like he was a frightened kitten she might break in half. Could you break kittens in half? Aw, he didn't want to think about hurting fluffy kittens. Now he felt like a monster.

“Sam?” Mum said in careful tones, as though they weren't already speaking before.

Sam looked from his Mum, to his grandpa to the guy in the leopard print. “Mum, what's this about?”

“Well, we just thought that maybe you'd like to sit down and have --” Lucy stopped. “We only really –no. We ah thought maybe with the three of us in the room we could --”

“Mum!” Sam screwed his eyes shut, then opened them. He leaned back in his chair.

His mother glared at him. “We want to know what's going on with you two!” Lucy flung up her arms. “Micheal's run off, you're up there moving furniture around! I know its hard for you two, and you miss your Dad. I feel really bad about that, I do, and I know I didn't leave in the best way possible! I just thought it was better to have a clean break.”

Lucy put her hand to her forehead, leaning over the table. Sam frowned, feeling bad. It wasn't his Mum's fault the evil dead were out chasing them. His chin sunk lower toward the floor. Outside, the sound of rain started, fast and pelting.

Max moved, pasting in graceful strides like a stalking cat. Coming over to place his hands on Lucy's shoulders. He pressed in, kneading his fingers in soothing bunches. The light shone in his glasses, disguising his eyes. “I think what your mother is trying to say, is that we want to know how you're feeling, and what to do to make you feel more comfortable with our arrangement.” Concise, to the point. Fair. But firm.

Sam opened his mouth, but Max put up a hand. “Now, now,” he said. “I'm dating your mother. That's just how its going to be. We can either have it go smoothly, or have it go the hard way. Its your choice.” Max's brows inched up.

Across the room, Grandpa cleared his throat. Sam looked at him.

“Sam,” Lucy started. She stopped, clearing her throat like her father. Max looked huge behind her, like a gangled tree. His lips twitched up in a smile. Condescending arsehole.

A shriek outside. Sam jumped to his feet as his mother twitched in sudden shock. Lights flickered in the windows and panic clawed its way up Sam's throat. His chair crashed down behind him.

“They're coming, they're coming!” He said, voice hoarse, hands in his hair.

Flashing red and blue lights. Nobody moved. They flickered through the windows and Sam hitched a breath. He bit his lip.

Grandpa raised his brow. “That'd be the police.”

Everyone was looking at Sam. He bunched up his shoulders, neck sinking down. Heat pooled in his face.

His mother, seeing her son embarrassed, glared at her father. “Well don't just stand there, get the door.”

Grandpa sighed as though all the world were against him. He turned, putting his hand to the knob of his kitchen door. There was a bang on it, stopping him momentarily. He opened it, revealing a man in an officer's uniform, another figure not standing far behind. The rain whipped down in sheets, making the lights from the cop cars dance in strange patterns.

The officer had his hands up over his head, dripping wet. “Sorry,” he said, flinging water from his fingers. “Its a bit wet out there, can we come in?”

Sam's Mum quickly got up from her chair. “Of course, yes,” she said, wrapping her cardigan around her a bit tighter.

Granpa took a big breath, then stepped backwards, swinging the door wider.

The policeman, rivulets of water running from his hands and dribbling on the floor, wiped his feet on the inside mat, smiling sheepishly.

He tromped into the room. He was a hulking man, with a pleasant face, and a bad haircut. His ears stuck out. Sam frowned.

Behind him, a small woman entered the room. She looked somber in her uniform, and her face matched. She darted hateful eyes around the room, eying Sam like he was about to climb up the wall and spit fire. She glared at his Grandpa as the old man shut the door.

Sam twitched. He moved and picked up his seat, sitting down and swallowing. He tensed his knees together.

What were the police there for? Was he in trouble? More importantly, was Mike? He'd never even seen any drugs. Seriously, this wasn't about drugs, right? Once, his friend Henry said he bought some ecstasy to school, but Sam reckoned it was just his Ritalin. But wait, was Ritalin a drug? Cause honestly, he hadn't even touched it. And plus Henry had hid it in his underwear, which was gross.

Mike might have drugs. Were there such things as vampire drugs? Anyway, he was sure Mike wouldn't touch vampire drugs. Mike didn't even like drugs. He had always told Sam to stay away from that stuff cause it was like cheating. Once, Mike said his coach told them to take steroids, but he'd said no, and that's what you're supposed to do, just say no. Anyway, he wasn't even sure vampires wore underwear, so where would they keep the drugs?

The policeman ignored him, looking at Sam's Mum. “Are you the one that called about a missing boy?”

Behind him, the female officer eyed the lamps on the table, clear distaste curling her lip.

Lucy nodded. “Yes, yes, that was me.” Sam relaxed, shutting his eyes in relief. Mum hesitated. “I'm his mother.”

Overhead, thunder roared. The tension flared back up Sam's spine and he twitched. Just cause no one had done anything wrong didn't mean the police knew that. They'd killed that itty-bitty vampire. Murder? Drugs? More murder? He was too gorgeous to go to prison. They'd shank him. He didn't know what a shank was, but he was sure it was really bad.

The policeman took out a pad from his pocket, and a Biro. He flicked the cardboard cover back and looked at Mum. “History of narcotics? Institutionalization?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, no. He's a good boy.”

Behind her, on the bench, Max moved. Sam looked at him under his brows. Max flicked his gaze toward the young man and tilted the corners of his lips back in a smile. Sam's shoulders inched toward his ears again. He didn't like Max. The man creeped his creep meter.

“Uhuh,” the policeman didn't sound convinced. “Ever ran away before?”

Lucy smiled sheepishly. “Oh, only once. He was five and he took his blanky. He didn't want to come home from Aunty Sue's.”

The policeman snorted and rolled arms that reminded Sam of legs of ham. Stay, or see where this went? He needed to get back upstairs and deal with the murderous comic book geeks and the other murderous undead. Daywalker?

“Alright, I think we should maybe sit down and get some details of what happened,” the large man said. “Is there somewhere comfortable we can sit?”

“In the lounge,” Lucy spoke up. She looked nervous, but determined. Sam hunkered down in his seat.

“We get a lot of missing in these parts. Not to alarm you, but its usually gangs, drugs. We'll find your son.”

“Mister Policeman,” Sam spoke up. “Ah, sir.”

The policeman turned his gaze onto Sam, looking questioning, but unsurprised.

Sam shut his eyes, folding his hands, then opened them and looked up, taking a breath.

“I swear I don't have any underwear,” He started, then stopped, mortified. The policeman's eyebrow shot up. “I mean drugs! Drugs!” Sam said, voice frantic.

Lucy gasped. “Sam!” He was getting sick of his Mum saying his name.

Sam shook his head hard. “That's not what I meant. I mean its not drugs.”

The policeman fixed him a long look, shuffling one side of his body back as though Sam was about to do something weird and unexplained. “What do you mean?”

Mum was looking at him strangely. Half exasperated, half shocked, half in anticipation.

Sam wilted back into the chair, spine arching. “I think I know where Micheal is.”

The policeman snorted. He looked over to the female officer. She had settled leaning on the wall near the door, disturbing Grandpa's calendar. Grandpa was gone.

She shrugged. “Usually the siblings,” she said sullenly, lip curling again as she raked her gaze across Sam. She looked like Elvis. Sam almost laughed, but then realised he was talking to the police. About his vampire brother. Hilarious. Hysteria crackled between his ears. He swallowed it down.

The male officer looked at Mum. “Can we just get the details? We'll be out of here in no time.”

“Alright,” Lucy said. She gestured to the open plan living room.

Sam snuck a look sideways, curling down against his seat. If they left and went to chat without noticing him, he could get on with his offensive plans. Maybe they'd even leave. Or better yet, take Mum with them to the station. Perhaps they'd stay and battle vampires. Police would come in handy. Didn't they carry truncheons? Handy dandy stakes in a pinch.

The policewoman detached herself from the wall and sauntered into the other room, looking about with arms crossed. She scoffed lightly.

The male moved to let Sam's Mum passed.

Lucy looked at Sam, a shrewd expression opening her face. “You're coming too, Mister. Don't forget you're in on this.”

She looked worn and a little angry. But amusement flickered in her expression.

Damn.

He rose and followed Mum into the living room.

The woman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one leg going up to cross her ankle. She was pretty in a butch kinda way, but she still looked like Elvis, and her eyes said they hated everyone in the room. Eye-screams. Like mouth screams only silent. Heheh, icecreams.

Mum showed the guy policeman to a seat with a crocheted cover. He settled in it like it was the most natural perch for a giant, muscular man to ever park his tush on. He eyed his notepad.

Mum sat on the edge of the long couch. Sam hesitated.

“Go sit with your mother, Sam.”

Sam jumped, letting out a yelp. He ducked forward, turning to where the sound had come from. Right behind and above him. Max had been behind him the entire time.

That made his back itch like crazy. He forced down a shiver. Max simply looked at him with that idiotic, patient smile. It was a look expecting total compliance, as though he could not countenance Sam not doing as he was told.

As it was, Sam did want to sit near his Mum. He made his way over to the couch, skirting the coffee table, eyes on Max. It wasn't cause Max had told him at all. Nope. This was like in Spiderman when he was just doing what the enemy said cause as how then he would spring his surprise attack and whatnot. Had to be Peter Parker some time. It was glaringly obvious he was a nerd.

“Ow!”

He'd stepped on Mum's toe while trying to get to his seat. She shuffled back and he climbed over her legs. “Sorry Mum.”

He fwomped back into the chair, glaring in Max's direction. Max made a pleasant, patient face back. Oh that insufferable Smerf!

“Be more careful next time!” Lucy was admonished.

The policeman looked up from his notepad, raising a brow. His expression said he was resigned to idiocy. Sam pouted.

“Okay,” the policeman cleared his throat. Max settled himself in grandpa's high backed rocking chair, looking somehow dignified, despite his barf coloured attire.

“So what set this off?” The policeman asked Sam's mother.

“Well,” Lucy started. She folded her hands in her lap, left on top of right. She paused, changed her mind and folded them the other way. “Normally, we're the best of friends.”

The policeman marked something on his notes, face immutable. “You had a fight?”

“Oh no. Well, not really. He was avoiding me. He's been doing that all week.” Lucy looked down at the floor.

“Ever since we got here,” Sam interjected. “About four days in to be exact. That's when he –.”

His mother dashed him a prudent look.

“-- he decided to throw me a birthday party. With dolphins. Eheeheh. I like,” he gulped air. “Dolphins. He was, um, being an ar-- a butt.” Swearing was a no-no while sitting in earshot of Mum.

“Dolphins,” the policeman muttered, writing something in his book. A look of pain shimmied across his face. He darted his eyes back up at Sam. “It was your birthday a few days ago?”

Heck! Better not be his birthday. They might check it against the police files. Who was it had the closest birthday? He wracked his brains.

“No,” Sam said. “It was Grandpa's birthday.”

The policeman said nothing, merely jotting on his pad. He then looked up at Sam's mother. She turned her knees toward him.

“So tell me about this fight.”

Across from him, Max's eyes glittered in the light. The policewoman at the wall stood like she was attached to the wall somehow. Like a short, intimidating slug.

Sam looked over to the stairs longingly. Maybe he should just wait. His hands twitched with inaction. The more time they wasted, the more dangerous it became. And where were those ruddy, tardy vampires. Shouldn't they have turned up to kill him?

Sam looked over to his mother. She gestured, her face nervous in the light. Outside, the rain continued to hammer away at the house. The start of a decision crinkled in the back of Sam's mind.

He looked from Lucy, back up at the stairs, checking. No noise, no lights. He swallowed. Nanook wasn't around. It was weird actually, that the dog was nowhere to be seen. Unless Mum had put him on the veranda for the night. But then again, why so early?

“It wasn't so much a hit,” Mum was saying. “More like an accident.”

A face peeked from around the corner of the landing and Sam's eyebrows shot up. A long face with a mean look. Shit.

“You don't want to press charges, I take it?” The policeman drawled.

Allan gestured frantically to him. Sam shot a look at his mother. She was busy with the policeman. The woman officer, and Max were looking on. Sam looked back to Allan. The Frog gestured again.

Sam flicked his hands to the side, indicating silence.

“Oh no!” Lucy exclaimed. “No, he's not a bad boy. He'd never hurt me deliberately.”

Allan nodded. Sam hesitated. Allan's head disappeared around the corner of the wall. Sam flicked his eyes to the officer. The officer flicked his eyes back at Sam. He raised a brow. Sam laughed awkwardly. The officer sighed, looking back to his mother.

“So what happened then?”

“He just ran off. He's been gone all week. I thought he was looking for summer work, but.” Lucy sighed.

Movement up on the landing again. Sam looked up, expecting to see Allan. Instead, he blanched as he realised instead of Allan or Edgar, it was the Monster Child. The limpid, sickly eyes tracked to him and he scrunched his hands into his jeans.

“He couldn't have gotten a girlfriend, could he?” The policeman asked with a sly inflection. “A bunch of friends he found in town?”

Lucy jerked a shrug. “If he has, I haven't seen them. Hes not always the most communicative of boys, but he's never hid his friends.” She chuckled and Sam jumped as her hand landed on his shoulder, roughing him around. “Unlike Sam here.”

He turned to his mother and she smiled, patting his back.

“But then Sam's growing up.”

Sam blushed from his shoulders to the top of his head. Mum compliments were the worst. He cleared his throat gruffly.

“What does your son do?” The policeman ignored the display of affection.

Up on the landing, the monster looked like a kid again, without a weird face. He was ridged stiff, with jumpy fear tainting his face. Lurking at the door, just his eyes poking out, he looked like some sort of demon ghost haunting the house. He jerked and began to walk forward, slowly, hands up. He lurched out fully onto the landing until, if anyone else looked up, they'd see him over the railing.

Edgar was hugging him from behind. There was a crudely carved steak at the nape of the kid's neck, ready to be jabbed up into his skull. Would that even work on a vampire? Sam swallowed. It wouldn't do for the police to see them threatening a kid with a spike.

“I don't know,” Lucy was saying. “He likes his body building, and he's always been into track.”

The policewoman shifted against the wall. Max rocked forward in his chair. Above them, a board squeaked.

Sam's shoulders shot up to his ears.

“Anything else?” The policeman asked, not seeming to notice the sound. At least, if he did, he didn't flinch. He looked mostly bored and resigned. Perhaps a little harried. He still smiled patiently at Sam's Mum.

Sam flicked his eyes up toward Edgar, gesturing to go back out of sight. Edgar nodded, pausing. He narrowed his eyes, poking the kid forward again.

Sam shook his head quickly, drawing a line across his neck. No, nope, no.

“Sam?” Sam looked at his mother. She looked confused. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah Mum, I'm just,” he smiled quickly. “I had a crick in my neck, Mum, that's all.”

“Oh,” his mother seemed a little perplexed. “Well don't stretch too hard. I'm not taking care of you if you sprain your shoulder.”

“Yes Mum.”

“We'll get to you in a minute, kid.” The policeman twitched his arm muscles. “He in school?”

Sam looked back to the stairs. Eyes widening, he saw that Edgar and Allan had started to inch their way down. Allan had his hands up in imitation of a gun. He pointed it at the living room, crouching.

Sam lowered his head into his hands. Goddamn it, for smart guys they were stupid. He stealed himself, looking up.

“I need to go to the toilet.”

Lucy and the cop looked at him. “Well don't tell us,” Lucy said, gesturing at him. “Go, just go.”

Sam barreled up from the lounge. “Okay, right, I'll be back in a sec!”

He turned a three sixty in his haste and dashed right, to the stairway that was unoccupied. The frog brothers had flattened themselves against the wall, and were in the process of inching their way back up. Good. Fucking good. Sam was getting sick of this bullshit.

He launched himself up the stairs and around the corner, gesturing at the brothers frantically.

They sneaked their way back up the stairs, shoving the kid into the hallway between the bedrooms.

Sam backed away quickly, but the kid didn't make a sound, just moving forward to stand against the wall face-first like a wimp. Edgar was still threatening him with the steak.

“Will you stop that?” Sam hissed, slapping at Edgar's forearm.

“Bloodsuckers--”

“No, shut up,” Sam interrupted. “What happened.”

Allan leaned forward close to Edgar and Allan. “You know how we put all the stuff at the other door?”

“Yeah?” Sam gritted his teeth.

“Vampires can fly.”

“Shit.” He'd forgotten that.

“He was sneaking up the hallway. So we jumped him.”

Sam lowered his lids and gave Allan a look.

“Roughed him around a little, yeah,” Edgar interjected.

Sam moved the look to Edgar.

“We may have thrown a pillow at him and then rolled him in a sheet.”

Sam just sighed. “Right, well, anyway. We have to get out of here.” It was urgent. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. It was brilliant, if martyrly.

“What? Why?” Allan started. “All our stuff is here.”

“You still got the fireworks?” Sam's brain raced, gliding along improvisation. He was about to get into big trouble. Big, big trouble. But Micheal wasn't here. It was his turn to save everyone.

“Chinese Wizzbangs,” Edgar corrected.

“They're in the bedroom,” Allan said gruffly. He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Why?”

“I have an idea,” Sam said, starting for the bedroom. He changed his mind halfway and instead made for Grandpa's room. “Bring the kid.”

The boys moved after him as he jogged to the end of the hall, grabbing the knob. The kid was dragged along with uncaring disdain. Edgar shoved him back against the wall next to the door, rapping him on the head with his knuckles.

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed.

“Vamps don't feel pain,” Edgar growled. “That was a warning.”

“Are we not gonna like this plan?” Allan asked, ignoring his brother.

“Sure y'are,” Sam said, turning the knob on his grandfather's room. He didn't elaborate, but instead put his sleeve to his nose. The pong which descended quickly after, wafted over him from the room. Beside him, Edgar choked.

“Oh God,” Allan gagged. “It smells like my Mum.”

Sam blinked tears from his eyes and stepped into the room. Bravest foot forward and all that. He felt at the wall, chinking the light on. The dangling uncovered bulb lit the room in weak, rusty light.

Scunge seemed to hang from every orifice of the place. Dust, webs, hair and ash littered whatever carpet could be seen. The rest of the floor was stacked with moldy dishes and empty cartons and wrappers.

“God, who died?” Edgar muttered.

Clothing ponged in the corner, weeping over onto the desk which was piled with skulls of various types. Jars marked 'Formaldehyde' and books with ripped spines tumbled from a book case standing at attention against the left wall. The right wall was reserved for a dead ficus, and a multitude of posters of naked women. The posters were so numerous, they covered the wall like wallpaper. They were stained yellow with smoke. Sam had barely seen a woman's breast until he'd entered his Grandpa's room after Gramma died. Now he wasn't sure if he'd seen heaps, or if they were all just fakes.

Sam took a breath, then coughed, regretting it. Strange old man lived like this. He couldn't have lasted a day. He stepped over a butter carton, and passed a pair of greasy overalls. Something moved under a pile of pie boxes, and Sam nearly hurled when it squeaked. A lazy fly drifted off what appeared to be a ripped garbage bag.

Stealing himself, Sam made his way toward the huge bed that dominated the middle of the room, under the naked window. It was covered in crumbs and a rumpled blue doona. A half eaten pizza jammed with Oreos stained the one pillow, which had fallen to the floor.

Grimacing, Sam leaned down, moving his hand to a plate with stinking chicken bones. He pinched the very edge of it and flicked it aside, gagging. It flipped upside down onto a fitted sheet stained brown in the middle. It looked like Grandpa had been using it for a trashcan. It was full of beer cans and whiskey bottles.

Sam pressed his eyes closed. Ech. At least there weren't maggots this time.

He inched his shoulders up near his ears and reached under the bed. If he was quick, maybe the germs wouldn't stick.

“Ew, he isn't --” Edgar started.

Sam felt around with his hand. His fingers hit something sloppy. “Ah!” He squeaked. He reminded himself that Mum had ordered grandpa to remove all the used condoms. Not that Mum would use the word. Sam had only heard of condoms a year ago. But he knew what went in them.

Pee. Pee went in them. That was disgusting.

He dragged his fingers out, and with a ginger twitch, he smelled them. Oh good, it was only gin. He sneezed. He reached back under, this time feeling at the bed springs. His hand hit relaxed denim. A strap. That was it.

He curled his fingers around it and tugged. A bag ripped itself from under the bed and bashed into the fitted sheet rubbish bin, clinking loudly.

“What's that?” Edgar asked.

“Mountaineering gear,” Sam grinned at the brothers despite his natural inclination to blow chunks all over the bed. “Plus a few extras.”

“Oh, dude!” Allan suddenly pointed at Sam's foot. “I think that's a spider!”

Sam shrieked. “WHERE?!”

“There! There!” Allan pointed wildly while his brother looked on in wide eyed horror.

Sam bolted from the room, bag in hand. He didn't care if he trod on the trash. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut, hopping up and down on the spot. “Is it on me?! Is it on me?!” He asked frantically, slapping himself down.

Allan didn't answer, diving onto his knees and slapping down Sam's legs with him.

“Ow!” Sam bellowed. “Ow!” He jigged on the spot, bouncing up and down like a spring. “Did it bite me? Oh my God!”

“What's going on up there?” His mother's voice.

Sam stilled. “Nothing!” Sam called, skin creeping from the thought of an arachnid crawling up his leg.

“That doesn't sound like nothing.”

Sam's brain flipped quick. “We ran out of toilet paper, so I was looking for tissues! I'll be down in a sec!”

“Oh, Sam!” His mother said with exasperation colouring her tone. “There's two whole new rolls in the cupboard over the sink!”

“Okay!” Sam called down.

Sam's leg twitched. He waited.

“You make sure to wash your hands!”

“Yes Mum.”

Sam clenched his hand against the denim strap of the mountaineering bag. He looked at the brothers and the one half vampire. Edgar hand his hand on the kid's shoulder, but had otherwise forgotten him. Maybe they should tie the kid up to be on the safe side.

“Okay,” he said, looking at Allan. “Follow me. We're getting out of here.”

 

*

 


	4. 4

Micheal.

The gentle pull tugged him down the old wooden stairs toward the beach below. It was dark, no lights on the bluff, none below. As far as he could tell.

He trumped down the stairs, almost afraid to make noise, almost trying to, as though that might alert whatever it was that was calling him. David, that blood in the bottle, the sea. His imagination. Whatever it was.

The sand puffed about him as he hit the bottom of the stairs. The long stretch of wooden boarding that lead to the rusted wire fence and the entrance to the cave.

The cave entrance was dark. He went to the gate and leaned on it to push through. It was tied shut with a long strand of wire. He took both ends to untangle it.

There had been no bikes above. The first time he had been there, his bike had remained where it was up top. But he doubted that was where the gang kept their bikes all the time. He couldn't see them around the entrance, but they wouldn't keep them so close to the water. Otherwise they'd have to be eternally maintaining them.

He grunted as he got the wire undone, pushing the gate open. It made a hellish spangling noise as it did.

Micheal.

He could have sworn he'd heard a laugh that time. The beach behind him crashed with waves. He stepped into the dark entrance to the cave. He almost expected something to leap out and grab him. But instead nothing happened, and all he felt was foolish.

The darkness closed over him as he moved on. He looked up. It was odd to be able to see perfectly fine. The steps were there, leading down and curving into the cave beyond.

Still no light. He had the sudden annoying thought that maybe David and his gang weren't there at all. But then why would he be being called to the cave?

Because he was crazy. Crazy and sick in the head. Insane in the membrane, as Sam would have put it.

Because he'd just killed two people, and he didn't feel any remorse. Trying to feel guilt was like trying to think about how you'd killed two eggs for breakfast. He shook his head.

He jogged down the steps. He couldn't see a torch to light the bin. It was a distracting idea, the thought that he didn't need one. It would have comforted him a lot if there had have been one. Taken his mind off the fact that he was now an horrific murderer, and didn't care.

His foot hit the floor of the cave. He looked up. There in the middle, the fountain. The eclectic variation of loot surrounding it, bundled in it, hanging from it, hanging from the roof above. Nothing moved. Still no light.

He cleared his throat. After the way he'd ran the other night, he wasn't sure how any of them would take his return.

“David?” He called into the darkness. The name echoed back to him, traveling into the cave and away.

He waited, listening and watching for any sound. There was a bead curtain hanging across the fountain. It was swinging lightly. It caught the small light trickling in from outside the cave. It sparkled and tinkled against its brother.

He smiled. Shiny.

Micheal.

The voice sounded amused. Somewhere from deep inside the cave. He looked up. There were tunnels leading out of the cave. He didn't know how far back they went. They could go for miles. Sam and his friends had crawled into the tunnel under the higher, wider opening.

He shook his head. He'd been insane to let them go in. But it had been enough for him carrying Starr and Laddie out. He chafed his arms. He needed answers.

He jogged over to the tunnels. Careful not to step on any of the clutter, he pulled himself up on the rock face. It was surprisingly easy, considering he'd never climbed anything like it in his life.

The tunnel above was wider set than the one below, and he wouldn't have to crouch. It lead back into a darkness thicker than the one in the main cave.

He shrugged away the twinge of apprehension. It was no use standing there whining about it. He'd made his first kill now, there was nowhere to go but forward. 

The tunnel wasn't long, just a few lengths. He kept his eyes on he ground ahead, one hand trailing the wall. The tunnel opened up into a cave, high ceilinged, but narrow. It stopped on a ledge that continued around the outer wall. There was something on the ground at the edge of the ledge.

He crouched to look. A pair of boots, high topped with buckles. He stared at them, nonplussed. He scented the air. They smelled like old leather. Probably best not to touch them.

He left them alone.

There was nothing else in the cave that he could see, hear or smell.

Micheal. Over here.

His head shot up in the direction of the tunnel opposite. He smelled the air for a second, then realised what he was doing and pushed a palm against his face. 

A shrieking whoop rang out from the tunnel behind him. He ducked instinctively, then realised he was alone. He stood up, turning, then immediately ducked again as a shriek rang out and something shot out of the tunnel. It shwooshed passed him over his head. Something hard clipped him on the ear. He yelped.

A roar followed, swooping into the cave system. He looked up as two screaming white faces whizzed overhead. Their carriers howled as they disappeared into the tunnel across the room.

“Shit!” He ran to follow them.

The tunnel was shorter than the last, and dipped down, opening into a very short, wide room. It was dark, but he could hear bubbling. He stopped at the entrance, looking on.

“Oh God, oh God no.” The voice echoed passed Micheal and out to the front of the cave.

Dwayne and Paul landed neatly before David. David, sitting on a large rock beside a very wide puddle, regarded them coolly.

He turned his face toward Micheal. Leaning sideways, he looked at his new boy as though mildly surprised to see him there. It was mocking. “Micheal,” he said. “Good of you to join us.”

Beside him, Paul was struggling with a small, shirtless man who looked about ready to vomit. The tall vampire grinned at Micheal, his eyes wide and manic.

Beside Paul, Dwayne was picking another man up off his feet. He was concentrating on his task. With a small twinge of annoyance on his face, he backhanded his catch. The man yelled, but fell still, and Dwayne hoisted him under his arm.

David smirked at Micheal. “Come join the fun.”

Micheal glared sideways at David, uncertain. “You're just going to let me join you, easy as that?”

David lifted his arms from his sides. “Of course.” He let them fall with a slap of his gloves. “Did I not say 'ask and you shall receive'? You're one of us, Micheal.”

Paul laughed. “You're one of us, Mikey.” He whipped his hair back. The man in his arms was red in the face, trying to break the blonde's grip. Paul grinned at him and flipped him around.

Dwayne glared at Paul.

Paul mock lunged at him. “What?”

“Don't play with your food,” Dwayne said gruffly.

David leaned back on his rock seat. He extended a hand. “Come here, Micheal.” It wasn't a question.

Micheal shook his head, glaring. “No.”

David twitched his brows up, leaning forward on his elbows. “Come here, Micheal.”

Something twinged in Micheal's brain. The tone of David's voice was a warning. Micheal could feel a snarl starting in his belly. He crushed it as hard as he could, stepping forward, toward the three vampires.

“Good.” David grinned his one sided grin as Micheal neared.

“Fuck!” The man in Paul's arms swore as Paul twisted his hair.

David ignored it, as did Dwayne. Paul grinned and pulled tighter. David looked up at Micheal and smiled amiably. Micheal turned his eyes from Paul's tormenting, disgruntled.

“What's the matter, Mikey?” Paul asked sibilantly.

David stood from his rock seat and stepped toward Micheal. Micheal made to move back, but he felt a gloved hand on his chin. The leather creaked as David tightened his grip.

It hurt. David made no expression as he forcibly tilted Micheal's head down until Micheal was looking up at him. David's eyes locked with his. Micheal instinctively tried to slide his gaze away, but David's eyes held his.

He grunted with pain as David's fingers dug in. Paul laughed behind him.

Was this a punishment? A warning? David had no expression. Micheal made to pull away, but the grip was too hard. His jaw creaked as the fingers pushed down harder.

Then, a blanket of calm settled over Micheal's shoulders. He shuddered, his skin prickling. It soothed and warmed his tired mind, like the heat after a downpour. What he hadn't realised was a headache, lifted away.

David smiled. “Better?”

“Yes,” Micheal gasped out.

David's eyes closed slowly, then opened. Micheal blinked at him. David released his chin.

Paul and Dwayne were both sniggering when he looked up.

“What?” He asked, irritated.

Paul laughed. “Nothing.”

David had stepped away, looking down at the bubbling pool at the side of the cave. There was a small alcove on the other side. David put up a hand, making a fist. “Bring the food.”

Micheal looked at the others as they stepped forward. “What's happening?”

David looked back at him over his shoulder.

“Your brother's hurt, Micheal. You have the honour of feeding him.”

The others both laughed.

*

David hooked his hands around an overhang and hauled himself underneath. Micheal crouched, shuffling under behind him.

Paul, far too close with his whimpering catch, chuckled as Micheal bobbed. Micheal ignored him.

They were up to something. Both Paul and Dwayne had intermittent grins on their faces whenever he looked back at them.

The narrow tunnel stopped some feet away, and opened out into a large cylindrical room. The floor was rocky, the ceiling far above. A few lengths away, the stone dropped out of the room, leaving a crescent curve around a large hole. David strode around the edge of the curve.

Micheal stopped in the middle of the landing. Dwayne and Paul walked around him, toting their burdens.

Micheal stared at the two prisoners. He didn't understand why they weren't being killed.

“Because they're not theirs,” David said.

He blinked. He hadn't been aware he'd spoken out loud. He opened his mouth, closed it again, confused.

Paul snickered at him, and David half lifted his mouth in a smirk. The blonde man looked down, then over to the others. He lifted his brows. “Dwayne, help Micheal in.”

His head shot to David's lackeys. Their grins had turned open mouthed. He moved back as he watched the smiles stretch over their faces. Wretched glee dripped from their tongues like they'd just been handed pie. Dwayne suppressed his grin with effort. He looked at Micheal and lifted his arm, dropping his meal with a wet thwack on the stones.

Micheal spotted the fight before it came. He moved back defensively, crouching, ready for an attack.

Dwayne smiled, moving toward him, slowly. He flicked out his arms and rolled his shoulders to limber them. Micheal weaved a bit to the side, keeping his feet moving. Dwayne crouched into his own fighting stance.

“Wooh! Go Mikey!” Paul exclaimed, sounding genuinely excited.

“That's the spirit, Micheal.” David whooped, clapping his hands.

Dwayne lunged forward at Micheal, snapping his teeth. Micheal moved to the side. Dwayne smiled nastily, and Micheal, with a strange feeling of apprehension, realised the lunge was playful. He backed up a bit.

Dwayne moved to the left, quick as a whip. Micheal dashed to the right to avoid him. Laughing, Dwayne moved to the right. Micheal weaved back to the left, only to find Dwayne moving at the same time.

He was surprised, tripping over his feet, but managing to skip away toward the hole. Dwayne lunged to the left. Micheal, thinking he was about to move again, stepped back. His heel pushed back on nothing and he slipped, awkwardly, yelling as he tumbled into the hole.

The void closed over his head as he fell. He put his hands out in front of him, and bowed his knees, ready to take an impact. But when his feet hit the rocky ground the impact was more as though he'd jumped from a fence.

He crouched for a second in the dark, his chest heaving, though his head wasn't swimming from lack of air. He looked back up to the mouth of the hole. It looked like it was at least fifty foot deep.

“And the prize goes to the Portygese.” That was Paul's voice. He cackled. More laughter joined in.

“Hey, screw you!” He shouted up into the darkness.

There was a pause. “Throw them in.”

A short scream, and the long silhouette of body plunged toward him. He danced backwards out of the way. There was a thump as the body hit the bottom of the hole. It bounced, then busted open like a watermelon, spilling guts and brain into the air.

“Ahg!” He yelled, putting an arm up to his face.

“Catch, Mikey!”

Another silhouette. He ran forward automatically, reaching out. He caught the man around the middle, ready for an impact. It wasn't much. It made his body turn to the side with the kinetic energy. He had expected to be thrown to his knees. The impact was more like Nanuk, or a large dog had barreled into him.

The man screamed as Micheal held him tight, thrashing about and trying to dislodge himself.

Micheal let him go and he fell to the ground, flipping himself over onto his back. He scrabbled back away from Micheal.

“Don't kill me. Oh holy fuck, don't kill me.”

Micheal shrugged at him helplessly. He looked up above, realising that the man probably couldn't see a thing. Laughter bounced down to him.

“Hey!” He called. “Hey! You can't leave me here!”

The laughter intensified, as though he'd just said something incredibly funny. He grunted, and the laughs turned into whoops.

“Hey!”

The whoops intensified, then started moving away from him, echoing as they moved further. He slapped his palms down against his sides. Of course they were leaving him there. He growled, kicking at a rock on the hole floor. It went sailing toward the wall and hit it with a ping.

“Look. Hey. Okay man.” Paul's guy was blathering something. “Listen. I can get you. The best smack you have ever had, man.”

He let out a soft, deprecating laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. I got the best stuff man. Fresh and everything, no taint I swear.” The man's voice was wobbling with fear.

Micheal didn't care. Annoyed, he looked at the wall. It was sheer for about ten feet, then it became rocky. He moved back from the wall and crouched. He pushed off with his toes, running toward the rock.

“Look man --”

He jumped at the wall, flinging his arms up, trying for purchase. His fingers struck nothing. He skidded down the wall, falling backwards onto his arse.

He grunted, more annoyed.

“What the fuck was that?”

Micheal cracked his neck, picking himself up and dusting down his pants. He jogged backwards, surveying the wall again. He sighed. There wasn't enough rock in the hole to stack high enough, but it might give him something to launch from. And he could use the body.

He tilted his head at the remains of a perfectly good person. On second thought, it looked like it might fall apart if he tried to pick it up.

He started picking up rocks, the bigger the better, and stacking them against the wall.

A sniff. “God, it stinks in here.” Paul's guy shuffled his feet underneath himself.

Micheal looked at him under his curls, and swung a small boulder at his pile. He hadn't noticed a smell. He went back to stacking rocks.

“Why do you think they've got us down here?” The guy must have decided Micheal wasn't a threat. Sucks to be him.

Heheh. Sucks. He didn't laugh at his own wittiness, but he gave himself the luxury of a grin. Not like anyone could see it. He went foraging for another rock. He was such a dork sometimes. In his own head, anyway.

He found another rock and hauled it over to his pile. He thumped it on top. It didn't like being there, and slid down.

“What was that?” The guy behind him was freaking out again.

He picked up his rock again. Growling with frustration, he let it drop and set to rearranging his pile. He tried larger rocks to the bottom, smaller ones on top. It seemed to work, but was shorter than his original pile.

“What are you doing?” The guy sounded uncertain again.

Micheal ignored him, backing away from his pile to see if it got him any closer to the rocky part of the face. He crouched, ready to run again. He huffed in a breath of air, pushing back and sprinting at the wall.

He pushed his foot at the pile and tried to spring himself up. But his sneaker got caught against the wall and all he did was launch himself into the rock.

He grunted, falling back again. This time, he managed to catch himself on his hands, rather than falling on his butt.

“No seriously, what is that?”

He looked over at Soup-of-the-Day. “Would you shut up?” He asked gruffly.

The man opened his mouth, leaning forward blindly. “I --”

A painfully loud yowl started up at the back of the hole, climbing toward a shriek.

“Holy fuck!” The crack guy's head whipped in the direction of the sound.

Micheal stood up slowly, scenting the air. Moisture of rocks. Cold smell. Dried blood and human remains. The guy stank of body odour and a tang that he liked. Fear? Nah. Only the smell of death remained.

He looked around the hole. There didn't seem to be anything else with them.

Paul's guy shot up and launched himself at the wall, putting his back to it. “No way, man. No way,” he chanted to himself as he quivered against the rock.

Micheal sighed. The guy was way too noisy. It was hurting his head.

A low growl emanated from the hole. Micheal's gut clenched, and he found himself grumbling back. The noise rolled out of his lungs like water out of a slew.

The growl at the other end of the hole whined. Micheal cut off his growl.

“Oh holy shit, holy shit,” the guy was whimpering. Micheal could smell his sweat. The guy began creeping around the wall, trying to put as much distance between him and what was groaning at them. Micheal watched him.

The growl continued and something twitched at the back of the hole. There was an alcove back there, and something long, mottled and fingered stretched itself across the alcove entrance. It pushed long fingernails into the rock and pulled itself forward.

Micheal screwed up his nose. Ech. No wonder it smelled like death. Whatever it was glaring at him out of the hole looked like a zombie.

Another long, low growl that cut off wetly.

“Shit!” Crack guy had gotten halfway around the wall.

Micheal looked back at the half dead thing in the wall. He lifted his brows. The thing growled again, annoyed. Micheal leaned forward. “Huh?”

Movement in his head. Image of a fuzzy ring. A body. Himself.

Crack guy yelped. Micheal looked at him, then back to Zombie.

Oh. Zombie wanted crack guy's delicious blood. He made a very soft, short laugh, hitching up the side of his mouth.

He turned, lunging at the man behind him. He grasped the guy's arm before the guy knew what he was doing. He screamed as Micheal lifted him, flinging him toward the back of the hole. The guy landed on his back and his screams cut off. Winded.

Micheal lifted his palms, looking at them. He'd just lifted, and then chucked, a full grown man.

He looked back at the shirtless guy on his back. The guy wheezed frantically as a gray palm slapped over his belly. Another one joined it. The nails dug in.

Micheal blinked as the man disappeared into the hole quick as a blink. Micheal waited for a few moments. A wheeze, and then a scream. Shrieks followed as the crack guy began to die.

Micheal sat down on his rock pile.

*

He groaned. His body felt heavy and sleepy. He forced himself to stand, moving toward the wall. He leaned his chest against the wall and reached up a hand. Blearily, he saw that it was clawed.

He had the odd urge to be up high. But he wasn't getting any higher than the rock pile he was on. He closed his eyes.

*

Laughter, then: “Look out below!” Followed by a whump.

A body hurtled down the hole. “Fuck!” He swore, lunging forward to grab the screaming woman around the middle. She yelled and clawed at him.

He dumped her on her arse and reached to catch the next body. At first he thought it was another woman. But then he lifted the head and saw it was a teenage boy. The boy was tensed up, breathing hard, his eyes fixed and blind. Micheal's stomach clenched and he hissed.

There was an answering growl. He turned his head, stopping short as he saw Zombie stalk forward.

The creature was grey and mottled darkly. It looked elongated and skinny like a tree. The matte of curly hair gave it away.

It reached for the woman and yanked her up. It was Marco.

“Holy fuck, what happened to you?” Micheal swore.

Marco, ignored him with a warning growl. The woman yelled as he pulled her close without preamble and bit down on her shoulder. A black stain of blood spread out against her scoop neck shirt.

Micheal blinked, shocked by the sudden violence. He felt hungry. But other than that, empty. As though a hole was where the feelings of horror were supposed to live. In the hole was stuffed something else, uncurling.

The boy in his arms was quiet. Probably in shock. He leaned in, pushing his nose against the mop of brown hair. He sniffed. Sweat and fear and warm blood and a beating heart. He looked up and glanced at Marco.

The half dead vampire was busy chewing on punk rock chick number two.

Micheal looked back at the kid. He tilted the head of the boy to the side experimentally. He nuzzled his nose down into the crook against the freckled skin. The boy whimpered.

It seemed being that close to a beating vein was too much temptation. Before he could get in another experimental sniff, he had the skin under his fangs and sucking up the juices that burst out.

He snarled, and heard an answering snarl. He dug his fingernails into his victim's back as the boy's muscles tensed under his grip. The kid gave barely a whimper as Micheal began to suck out his life force. Micheal bit down harder. He felt something crack underneath his mouth. Unconcerned, he swallowed on, until the kid began to convulse. His chest began under Micheal's grip.

Micheal let him fall from his hands. The kid fell onto the ground, mouth in an O. His eyes rolled up into his head. There was blood leaking out onto the ground underneath him. He bowed his back in a last attempt at oxygen, and then he stopped moving.

Fuck.

Micheal couldn't hear a heartbeat. Fuck. How was he supposed to know that people needed to breathe? He stared at his food on the ground.

Fuck.

There was a wet sound to his right. He looked over at Marco, half grinning, ruefully. The vampire just growled at him, stopping his motion. Micheal stared at him. The vampire's eyes glittered. Micheal stepped back. Marco growled again, then took a better grip on the arms of his catch.

Micheal tensed, and Marco moved, backing away slowly with his kill. His eyes caught the small light in the darkness as he moved back into his hole.

Then Micheal was alone again. He twitched, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was still hungry. He leaned over and sniffed the kid. Blood was still good. He crouched, shuffling toward the body. He slicked his finger through the blood at the kid's crushed shoulder. He popped the finger in his mouth.

“Ech.” It didn't taste so good after the person was dead. It was still good, though. He licked up as much as he could. It wasn't much. His jaw tensed, then relaxed. Then his shoulders twitched. Still hungry.

Fuck.

He looked around at the hole floor. Rotting corpse, smelled a bit off, dead kid, rock pile. He'd moved the rock pile earlier when he'd started to fall asleep. Now it looked like a really lame nest. Marco had taken the other people.

He looked over to the hole. He supposed he could go look for the vampire. But then he'd actually have to go near him, and he wasn't sure Marco was exactly happy with his presence. He supposed he could go shout questions into the alcove. But then he'd probably just look stupid. He congratulated himself on his self control. Last thing he wanted to do was look uncool in front of a dead guy.

He laughed at himself, then let out a whine. Goddamn it, why'd he have to kill junior? Now he didn't have anything. Sighing, he went over and put his hands on the kid, searching the pockets. They were empty. He would have stripped the body for some bed clothes, but the kid was wearing only a t-shirt and three quarter pants.

Growling, he picked up the body and flung it away from him. It landed nearer to the alcove. Bored and hungry, he turned and went back to his rock nest bed thing. He started gathering up the rocks. He'd try running up the walls again.


	5. 5

Fuck. Almost had it.

Micheal jogged backwards, looking up at the wall. He'd nearly made it that time. He'd scraped the gritty rocky part of the hole with his fingers. Little rocks spackled against the ground as they fell. He looked at them, annoyed. His belly clenched, and he tried to ignore it.

He ran at the wall again. He'd taken his sneakers off, finding that running up walls were way easier with bare feet. The best he'd done was four steps. It still hadn't been enough to make it.

He managed three steps before falling. It was better if he pushed off the wall and turned to try to land. It meant he didn't fall on his arse.

He landed on his feet and crouched into the impact. He half grinned when he managed to keep his balance. Turning, he sized up the wall again.

There was a small noise behind him. He sniffed the air, turning and shuffling his shoulders back. Marco.

Marco was looking at him with an odd expression. He looked a billion times better than he had before. Less zombie, more half dead junkie. Micheal sniffed again. Must be the smell of vampire. Mildew and smoke and leather. Or it could just be Marco.

Micheal snorted, half embarrassed for no reason he could think of. “What?”

“What are you doing?” Marco's voice was a dry rasp.

Micheal shrugged, feeling defensive. “I dunno.”

Marco narrowed his eyes, giving Micheal a disbelieving glance. After a while, he shook his head. “Yeah,” he muttered, smiling. He looked down at the body of the kid. He toed it once and the kid's hand flopped onto the ground.

Micheal felt the itch of the uncomfortable between his shoulder blades. He didn't feel right turning his back with Marco right there. Marco gave him a sideways glance when he made to shuffle back. He backed away further toward the wall, crouching. Marco didn't seem to care.

The vampire leaned down and took the kid's arms, pulling the body up by the waist and hoisting him over one shoulder. Without looking at Micheal, he turned his back and ducked back into the alcove.

Micheal watched the cave within a cave. He smelled the air again, listening. There was nothing. He looked back up at the sheer walls of the hole. He wasn't good at calculations. His insides moved, roiling. His throat felt parched. He flexed his jaw.

“No, fuck, seriously, Mikey. What are you doing?”

Micheal's chin flicked down at the hoarse words. Marco was standing in the hole again. The over familiar term had rolled out of the vampire like he'd always known him.

Micheal shrugged. “Iunno. Trying to get out?”

Marco looked at him with that slightly tilted sideways look of disbelief again. He tensed his brows. “You can't get out, man?” He asked, grinning incredulously.

Micheal grunted. He hated when people made him feel stupid. Marco knew something he didn't. Micheal shrugged.

“You're stuck down here.”

Micheal shrugged again, tilting his gaze away from Marco's. “Yeah, so what?” He stopped as his gut decided to cramp up. He pressed a palm to it, shutting his eyes and doubling over. His hand clenched into his middle. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to curl into a ball. He shoved a arm to the ground to keep from falling. Groaned, turning it into a growl at the last second.

Laughter from Marco. “Oh fuck, you can't be serious, boys.” More laughter.

I have to babysit again?

The laughter spread into the shell of Micheal's ear. It closed into his head.

“Fuuuck,” the groan came from Marco.

The cackle doubled in Micheal's brain. He slapped a palm over his right ear where it buzzed, looking up, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the sound.

Marco was standing with his chin tilted back, looking down at him. His lip was curled, considering. He stood there for a while, watching Micheal pant. Micheal gazed at him from under his hair. The vampire's cheeks were gaunt, and there was a big black stain on the front of his usual white shirt. Micheal shook his head.

With the shake, Marco moved. He jerked, stalking forward. His feet crunched on rocks. Micheal looked up at him. There had been no warning footsteps before. It was like he was trying to be heard. Micheal glared at him in confusion.

Without preamble, Marco crouched in front of Micheal. He tilted his head down, shuffling so that his elbows were on his knees, and his face lower than Micheal's. He looked up at Micheal under his brows.

“Heey,” he croaked. Micheal glared harder at him. He was too far into his personal space. His breath was like a wash of rotting sea food. “You hungry?”

Micheal snorted, jerking his head back against the wall. Uncomfortable. His chest twinged and his stomach roiled. He sniffed, once, surreptitiously. Marco's breath may smell of week old prawns, but with his mouth closed, all Micheal could smell was the smokey leather.

Marco chuckled, eyes hollow and blackened in his white face. “Yes?” Marco's face bobbed mockingly. He looked aside, hoiked up the side of his face in a grin, tilted his head and looked back at Micheal. “No? Fuck me?”

Micheal kicked out with his foot reflexively, hitting Marco in the gut. The vampire grunted, catching Micheal's ankle and grinning. His fingers curled into the crevices between his toes and under the cuff of his jeans.

Micheal stared at Marco, eyes tilting away when Marco's met his. Marco drummed his fingers on Micheal's skin with gentle pads and fluttered his eyelashes in mock innocence.

Micheal grimaced at him. “Fuck off.”

Marco sneered and clamped iron stringed fingers around Micheal's ankle. With a pull Micheal was planked flat on his back. Marco cackled. Micheal kicked out with his other foot, but it was like kicking a wall. He gave up, grabbing his leg and pulling.

He arched up off the ground, heel of his free foot, pushing into Marco's ankle.

Marco looked at his foot and snorted.

Temper.

With a sudden jerk backwards, Marco began pulling him along the ground. Micheal's back scraped against the rock as they went flying toward the alcove with impressive speed.

More laughter bubbled in Micheal's head, cracking his skull. He winced, whimpering out loud and screwing his eyes shut. His head flopped onto the ground, scalp scraping in the dirt.

Marco stopped suddenly.

Pain shot from Micheal's eyelids to the back of his head. He groaned, slapping a hand over his face.

“Headache?” Marco laughed again.

Micheal, in a pique of confusion, lashed out with the captured leg, thunking into Marco's chest. All it produced was an odd thump, and another bubble of laughter. Then Marco, looking like it was the funniest thing in the world, let his foot go.

Micheal didn't care. He immediately curled into a ball of pain as nauseated hunger lanced through him from different angles. “Gaah!”

He tucked his hands over his belly and put his forehead to his knees. The fuck was going on?

Marco's face flashed above him, and he turned his head up to look. Then Marco punched him hard in the jaw. Lights danced away from his vision and then back again. They zoomed around in pretty colours. His throat seized and he made a strangled croak. Fingers scratched against rock, then the cool hard toes of a foot.

“Stop fretting, Micheal,” Marco had a turned up little smile on his face. His face loomed large in his vision. Micheal screwed up his nose. His breath smelled like rotting ocean weed and vomit. Completely wrong.

He took Micheal by the arms. Micheal's head rang as he lifted him up. Then with a dizzying twist he was over Marco's shoulder. He almost vomited down the guy's cotton clad back. Marco didn't seem the least bit fazed by the weight or the fact Micheal might puke.

“You won't puke.”

“Huh?” Micheal was having a hard time concentrating.

Rock swung in Micheal's vision as Marco crouched to enter the hole within a hole. Micheal watched the backs of his legs. He crouched with one arm in front and the other curled around Micheal's arse.

Micheal punched Marco in the back and bucked a knee into his stomach as they squeased into the lopsided tunnel. But Marco laughed, bouncing him on his shoulder. His back hit the rock ceiling. Nausea skittered over Micheal's face and he dropped his head to dangle.

“Yeah,” Marco intoned quietly, almost to himself.

I win.

“Fuck you,” Micheal gritted out through clenched teeth. His belly was empty and his nostrils seemed full of scents. He pawed at his face as Marco dragged him along.

Then he stopped and Micheal was flipped up again. This time he landed more softly, then choked as Marco shoved his fingers under his chin in a quick strike. Out and away.

“Stay here, Mikey,” he said, smiling cheerily.

Micheal's head flopped forward, and Marco pushed a finger into his forehead to push it back upright.

Micheal gasped for breath, choking on his own saliva. He pawed at the ground, feeling the oddness of silk and fabric.

“The hell?” Micheal coughed out.

Marco's face fell into implacability and he shrugged one shoulder. Then his eye darted to the side and he hesitated, jerking the side of his mouth up as he gave a soft snort. He reached out, picking up frayed golden pillow. He let it fall onto Micheal's chest. He tilted his head, looking at it.

Micheal, stomach clenching, gritted his teeth, a growl bubbling up his throat. Anger followed it and he lunged forward, bunching his fist.

He hit Marco in the shoulder, and Marco swung to the side. He pulled his arm back to swing again.

Marco turned his face and caught his eyes, stopping him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as Marco hissed menacingly. Without breaking his gaze he grabbed Micheal's face, fingers clamping in to bruise. He held him steadily, staring into his eyes. Discomfort flooded Micheal's face and he flicked his eyes away.

Marco's face went from angry to smiling happily without an in between. He kneaded Micheal's face a bit with his fingers, then let go. He looked at him a bit, then patted his cheek heavily with one hand. Slowly, he began to back off.

Micheal watched him turn in the small space and without any more words, start to crawl-lurch away down the tunnel. Micheal wrinkled his nose, looking at the ceiling. It smelled like week old rat's piss in there.

Micheal's stomach flipped again and he opened his mouth. His tongue felt dry and his throat swallowed on nothing.

Great. Why was he doing what Marco said again?

*

Micheal waited with aggravated impatience. His mind wandered in the dark, mostly to Starr. He imagined her lips, and the gentle curve of her cheekbones. She hadn't looked great when he'd seen her last. She'd smelled of the tang of sweat, he realised. He probably did too. When he'd killed his first man, the sick feeling and the fever had gone away. He was now left with only half the symptoms he'd experienced before. He rolled over onto his belly and stood. His head nearly brushed the ceiling.

He wiggled his toes. Blankets on the floor, and pillows. Really old, half ripped mouldy blankets and pillows. He pushed his toe against one of the red pillows. It bounced back like a normal pillow.

“Huh.”

There was a hole at the other end of the cave. It was about a foot by a foot. He walked over and leaned out it.

Cool air lapped his face. The cave beyond was open, and dark. Above, he could see a wall stretching up to a mossy ceiling, and far below the slapping and beating of water. He sniffed, smelling salt. He assumed that was where the bodies had gone.

A squeal interrupted him. He ducked out of the opening, turning, smelling the air. He slapped his palm over his face and rubbed, realising he was acting like frigging Nanuk.

He could smell smoke and leather again.

A limb swished in the darkness and Micheal blinked as his eyes honed in on it. It was too weird he could see in the dark. Then a face erupted into his vision. He tilted his head back, surprised.

There was a distressed moan and a woman's naked body tumbled into the hole onto the dusty pillows. Micheal stared at her for a moment, taking in her drooping nipples, and bare back. She sobbed on her hands and knees, limbs shaking.

Marco, still looking like he had just awoken from a coma, crawled in after her. He crouched like Micheal, putting his back against the wall and grinning.

Micheal looked at the woman, then to Marco. His lip hung open in confusion. He felt as though he were supposed to do something here. He licked his teeth.

“What?” He asked, puffing out breath, looking at Marco.

The woman shrieked and started to cry. Big globules of tears lapped down her face and plopped onto the red pillow underneath her. She scrabbled her hands in the dirt. She had big hoop earings in her ears. Long black hair draped down her back.

“What do you think, Mikey? Hurt her, bite her, fuck her. Do what you want with her.”

The woman tensed herself, curling into a ball, falling to her side. “No,” she sobbed.

“I'm not gonna rape her,” Micheal intoned, but it came out without any force behind it. He knew they were the right words, but they came to his mouth out of shape. A strange feeling broke inside his chest and he screwed up his face.

Marco leaned back, sliding down the wall in a comfortable heap. He let one elbow rest on his raised knee. “You don't have to, Mikey,” he said evenly. “Just kill her, then, man.”

Micheal jerked forward at the words.

The woman sobbed louder. “Please.”

Heat rushed to Micheal's head, pounding in his ears. Sweat beaded the woman's skin as she shook. Micheal's vision lingered on the droplets. They escaped and slid down her back in rivulets. Breath rushed in and out of his lungs as his hand shifted forward toward the woman. His fingertips touched the back of her quivering arm.

She lurched up, away from his touch. Something crunched as she bashed into the wall, falling forward, clutching her shoulder. She shook her head, moaning pitifully.

Micheal, feeling a lack of distress, looked at Marco. Marco smiled at him quickly, one finger in his mouth, chewing his fingernail. He narrowed his eyes, nonchalant.

Micheal reached out for the woman again, this time grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. She screamed once, and it echoed out around the room and out into the system.

“Please don't kill me,” the woman sobbed. Saliva spat out and ran down her chin. Her breasts swung back and forth as Micheal pulled her. Her side slapped into his chest and he grabbed her head, shoving it to the side. He could make out the bruise forming on her shoulder. Liquid pumped against his hand, just under the skin.

He leaned his face down. She pushed against him, kicking her legs. He tensed his muscles for impact, but the blows felt like the playful pulling of a kitten. Micheal growled at her and she went limp, clacking her teeth together in shock. Behind him, he heard Marco snort.

Micheal nuzzled into her neck.

“I have children,” the woman gasped, her uneven fingernails scrabbling at his arms.

Micheal's stomach clenched and he grunted, hesitating. Something feral coiled in his chest, ready to rip the woman in half. He wanted to dig his fingers into her flesh and pull out the juices. It felt natural and good to do so.

He jerked his head back, then forward again, sniffing at the neck. His mouth ached. He clenched his teeth, looking up. The fall of the woman's hair fluffed over his hand. He looked at Marco.

“I don't want to kill her.” His voice was a croak.

The woman's breath came out in a rush of hope. He clutched her tighter. She whimpered.

Marco looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward. “Give her here, then.” He grabbed the back of the woman's neck and pulled.

Shocked, Micheal let go and the woman fell to the floor, dragged into Marco's lap as he leaned back against the wall.

Micheal felt a growl in the back of his throat. “Hey.”

Marco laughed, grabbing the woman's arms. She struggled as he turned her to face Micheal. He huffed a small laugh and propped his chin on her left shoulder.

“He-ey, what's your name?” He poked her in the side.

“Giselle,” the woman gasped.

Marco let go of her arm and put his palm to the top of her head forcing it back. “You're missing out, Mikey.”

Micheal sat, tensed, ready to spring forward. Marco caught his eyes and stared him down again until he sat back. He gritted his teeth, annoyed.

“So Giselle,” Marco said amicably as the woman battered out rough pants. “You seem like you have a charming personality. Say hi to Mikey.”

Giselle kicked out with her legs, trying to get away. Marco curled his hand tighter around her head. His nails bit into her scalp and she shook harder. Micheal's nostrils twitched.

“Hi Mikey,” Giselle slurred.

Marco sniggered. “I thought I'd help Mikey out, seeing as he's so hungry. But he seems to have forgotten that he's a monster now. You gonna help us out, Giselle?”

“Yes. Yes, I'll help you out.” Snot slipped out of Giselle's left nostril adding another stream to the tears.

Marco pulled her head to the side and shoved his face into Giselle's shoulder. Blood spewed out as he ripped a hole in the side of her neck.

Giselle went rigid. Micheal leaned forward as she rolled sightless eyes up to the ceiling, lungs bellowing in and out. He could smell the thick syrup of blood again, felt it as her heart pumped it out of the wound. She whimpered and lifted a hand up, battering uselessly at Marco's. Marco sucked and lapped at the wound. It made wet noises that tugged at something in Micheal's gut. Feeling ashamed, Micheal crept backwards. The effort to do so when the thing he wanted to do was right in front of him, was like trying to move the sun by blowing on it. He backed up against the stone, pillows squishing under his bare feet.

Marco pulled his head back from the wound in Giselle's neck. It was gaping and leaking. It sputtered into the air, fanning Marco's face with red flecks. His bones had contorted into the strange form Micheal had seen the night at the bonfire.

“Come on Micheal,” Marco said, his voice gruff and wheedling. Pain raked into Micheal's mind and lanced his ears. He grabbed his head. The suggestion to move was too strong and Micheal was pulled forward.

He panted, looming over Giselle. Marco laughed and it bounced around Micheal's skull. Micheal sniffed the air. Blood and salt, and that horrible burned entrails smell Marco's breath gave off.

Micheal shook his head, swiping his hand across his nose.

What's wrong, Mikey?

“You smell like dead skunk.”

Marco chuckled, lips tilting up into a grin. With his animal fangs the expression looked surreal. Giselle's eyelids were sinking over her gaze, and her breaths were coming longer. The smell of her drew Micheal in and he buried his face under her chin.

The blood hit his face and he lapped it with his tongue. The wound was large, so he opened his mouth. He sucked, trying to get as much liquid in his throat as possible. It tasted woody, and sweet at the same time.

He moved his arms around the small of Giselle's back. Curled his fingers against her spine. Marco's stomach was like stone behind her and Micheal heard a chuckle in his ear.

He pulled his head back, the sensation and smell overwhelming him. Hardness caught the back of his head and pushed him back in to Giselle's neck.

“Keep goin'.”

Giselle's breathing was hard, but she made no sound. Micheal's fingers slipped on her oily back. He began rubbing rhythmically down the curve of her lower back with his knuckles. The blood started coming slower. The rhythm of her heartbeat against his ear became fainter. He lapped at the trickle.

And then her heart stopped.

Micheal sucked at the wound a bit more until the taste, of its own accord, turned sour. He pushed up from his meal's neck. Giselle was stuck rigid, and didn't flop out of his hand like the others.

“Sometimes they die that way,” Marco said.

Micheal looked at him, realising his face was an inch away from Marco's. Marco laughed, grabbing the back of Micheal's neck and pulling him in over the dead woman's shoulder. He planted a wet bloody kiss on Micheal's mouth.

Micheal forced himself away, falling back. He scrabbled backwards until his back hit wall.

Wide eyed, he wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “You're crazy!”

Laughter bubbled up in Micheal's head as Marco chuckled, full of mirth. Marco pushed Giselle's body off him and pulled himself into a crouch.

“Feel better?”

“You're fucking crazy.” Micheal swallowed and scrunched his eye shut, then open. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Marco lowered his eyelids into a lazy slit. “We all get picky when we get our senses back,” he said.

“What's that sposed to mean, huh?” Micheal pushed himself against the wall. He caught sight of his shirt. It wasn't white any more. Well. Fuck.

“Stay here, Mikey, or don't,” Marco turned his head, crawling into the opening of the tunnel. Then he moved into it, ignoring Micheal's long, angry looks. He seemed far to happy for someone that'd just ripped a woman's throat out and kissed a guy.

“The fuck?” Micheal swiped his hand across his lip again and pushed himself up.

Micheal.

He followed Marco into the tunnel.


	6. Quick note El Secundo.

No, I haven't died. Sorry. Unfortunately, though, all my computers have decided to simultaniously pass on. But! Good news. I do have a new chapter once I drag the stuff off my old desktop and scrounge up the dough for a new one. Unfortunately that may be a little more time. Patience, dear readers. I am getting back to you. This was a present for a friend, and so therefore a promise. And I always keep my promises.

 

Aha! You thought I'd abandoned you.  You did, admit it!  I see you there, lounging in bed, checking tags - Yes you!  Listen up.  I now have a laptop.  But, it has been so many months since I've written anything of substance, its gonna take me a couple weeks to get back in shape.  Have a check back on what I'm doing then, and don't despair.  New chapter soon.


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